


Duo

by SpecialAgentFiction



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 21:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7986646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpecialAgentFiction/pseuds/SpecialAgentFiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CIA Agent Napoleon Solo only allowed two people in the whole world to use his first name, both were female and one was his mother, bless her soul.<br/>The other? Well that's confidential…or at least it was. </p><p>Napoleon Solo/OFC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

** Vinciguerra Island, 1963  **

The naval helicopter currently en-route to the island fortress was making considerably more noise than necessary, the blonde female currently strapped into the flying death-trap mused as she peered out of the small, but thankfully clean, window beside her.

She had barely set foot onto the HMS Ark Royal before being herded back into the contraption by a very anxious and excited Alexander Waverly, and the pair were now coming into land on the grassy landscape that covered the portion of the island that was not overridden by the huge fortress the Vinciguerra family had built as an obvious show of wealth.

The former MI5 boss had nattered on and on since boarding and honestly, she was far too tired to pay much attention to him. Naturally she'd skimmed the file that had been handed to her at the airport terminal at Madrid and so was more than up to speed on the status of the mission at hand. The flight out from Spain had, admittedly, been a short one but after spending the better part of three weeks tracking and neutralising the threat British Intelligence had detected in the city, a twelve hour long-haul where she could have had a nap and a cup of tea that wasn't lukewarm, would have been much appreciated.

"We've landed Sir, Ma'am." The blonde's eyes flickered over to the pilot, currently twisting in his seat to address them and with an "Excellent work, man." Waverly was gone, leaving only the agent at his side in the space.

The blonde flashed the pilot a quick smile as he turned back in his seat to fiddle with the controls, and she internally ran through the notes she had tried to memorise on the plane.

Three agents; one Russian, one American and one former mechanic turned spy for the British. The last one brought a genuine smile to her lips; it had taken some of her best persuasive skills to turn one Gabriella (Gaby) Teller to their side, but the payoff had been worth it. Not only had the girl managed to track down her father but she had also fed them titbits of what was going on in East Germany before her extraction by the nosy American agent.

Sneering at the thought of the CIA operative almost ruining two years of her and Waverly's hard work, she made a promise to herself to acquaint the as yet nameless agent's cheek with the palm of her hand when she finally met him.

Anyway, three operatives tasked with locating the nuclear missile constructed by the kidnapped Dr Udo Teller (a rocket scientist turned U.S. collaborator) under the watchful eyes of Alexander and Victoria Vinciguerra with the aim of passing it onto any remaining Nazi's, had failed despite storming the compound, burning Gaby's cover and Waverly revealing himself as MI5.

Nevertheless, the man was ecstatic as news of a car chase involving a Jeep, a dune buggy and a motorbike, filtered through the helicopter's radio and had almost exploded with joy when the Russian radioed to confirm that they did indeed finally have the missile.

She took a breath as she reached the end of her information and with a final smile to the naval pilot; she made her way out of the helicopter, gratefully taking the hand of a Special Boat Service operative as she transitioned from the high ledge of the helicopter to the marshland below.

The wind had picked up. That was her first thought upon planting both feet onto the ground, and the blonde was suddenly embraced by the chill, her hair blowing everywhere as her beige coat fanned out behind her.

She supposed she looked an intimidating sight; hair blowing back, coat fanning out to show the tight black jumper and capris' she had on underneath as well as the burly seaman at her side, quickly springing back into position as the British agent released him.

She took one step, her impractical black heels narrowly avoiding a patch of mud before her spine stiffened and her eyes went wide at the sound of a voice that she had last heard in a busy airport too many years ago.

"Eva?" 

* * *

 

"Napoleon."

He had always loved how his name rolled off her tongue; her accent enunciating every vowel in a way that his American counterparts never could.

She was still a sight to behold; golden hair whipping around behind her as military men who could snap her in half took a large step back from the fierce Agent. Solo could feel his exhausted body rejuvenate as he drank in her image, the form fitting clothes she had always preferred, doing little to quench his thirst.

A flicker of concern passed through her eyes as she took in the mud and blood that he was currently covered in; the chase having taken him through some very dodgy parts of the marshland before Alexander Vinciguerra decided to come at him with a bar that had been ripped from his Jeep after it had rolled. He could honestly say that the man would not be missed as he recalled the deadly slap of iron on steel as the mad Italian struck his outstretched gun. At least Peril had been able to dispose of him quickly.

"Excellent job." An excited Alexander Waverly clapped him on the shoulder as he strolled back from inspecting the missile. "Absolutely spectacular." He grinned, breaking the silent stare that had entranced the man and woman. "Wouldn't you agree, Eva?"

"Simply wonderful." She agreed, her voice flat as Waverly waved her over to join him as he addressed the three muddy operatives that had migrated to the side of the naval helicopter that had joined then from HMS Ark Royal, where they were using the steps as seats while a medic worked.

She stepped past him carefully, her eyes meeting his only briefly before snapping back to her Commander and the woman he was currently speaking to.

"Gaby, my dear, how are you?" The brunette only managed a shaky smile in response as she nestled further into Kuryakin's tender hold and Solo felt his fists curl as images of the woman handcuffed to the dashboard as the jeep flipped down the hillside filled his mind.

Yes, it definitely a good thing that Peril had dealt with Vinciguerra and honestly, the man was lucky that it had not been the Russian to pull Gaby from the wreck or a simple stab wound would not have been deemed fitting enough.

"Right, well…" Waverly tailed off as he too took in the state of the woman. "…at least we got it before it could fall into the wrong hands, eh?"

Solo forced down a laugh at the glare Peril sent towards the Brit before his eyes landed on the blonde and his eyebrow rose questioningly.

"Ah yes." Waverly turned to the woman who was carefully studying the Russian and the German and cleared his throat to catch her attention. "Let me introduce you to MI5 Agent…" 

* * *

 

"Eva Solo."

Her voice was crisp as she cut across the man, always preferring her own introductions.

"Solo?" The confusion in the Russian's voice was clear as he frowned at her and Eva had to admit that this was possibly the worst way to have this conversation. "As in Cowboy?" She frowned at the reference, unsure of exactly what the Russian was implying.

"Mr Kuryakin I presume?" She strode towards the man, hand outstretched. "A pleasure to meet you." She stepped away from him as soon as the handshake was done and crouched beside the brunette still in his arms. "Gabriella Teller." She grinned at the girl. "Long time no see."

"You said this would be easy." The accusation as barely loud enough for the three men to hear but Eva laughed; the six words a perfect status report on the brunette.

"No." She patted her head as she stood. "I said it was simple; not that it would be easy, they Gaby, are two vastly different things."

"I still do not understand how you have same name as Cowboy." She was well aware that Kuryakin hadn't taken his eyes off her during her exchange with Gaby and she was sure that the KGB Agent had more questions than that, especially as Gaby had let out a smile upon first seeing the woman disembark the aircraft.

"I didn't know marriage wasn't practised in Russia anymore, Mr Kuryakin." She retorted, stepping back to give the medic some room.

"I do not-"

"She's my wife, Peril."


	2. Chapter 2

** Fairfax, Virginia; 1958  **

Langley wasn’t anything like she’d imagined it’d be. In fact, the CIA’s Headquarters looked more like an industrial block than the prestigious office she’d been told to expect.

Though, that wasn’t really a shock as the Agent who had collected her from the tarmac at Washington National had spent the past 25 minutes telling her exactly how wonderful the great state of Virginia was…so far she’d seen a lot of buildings and not much of the wonder he assured her was around each corner.

Yes, so far her business trip had provided her with the sight of as much concrete as she would normally see on her daily commute through London.

“And here we have it, Ma’am…” The young agent stole her away from her thoughts of home. “…Welcome to HQ!” She offered the man a strained smile as he beamed at her in the rear-view mirror and, checking she had all of her notes, she exited the vehicle as quickly as possible; waving away the man’s assurances of dropping her bags at her hotel for her.

It was only when she was stood at the foot of the 4 metre wide marble seal emblazoned onto the floor of the entrance lobby, did she suddenly realise the gravity of the task before her; Alexander Waverly, yes the Alexander Waverly, had hand-picked her; a relatively new agent who had only ever ventured as far as Hanover, to travel across the Atlantic for a Five Eyes meeting.

She glanced down at the manila folder held securely under her arm and forced down an excited grin as she finally let it sink in that she was here; representing her country and hopefully doing them proud.

“Can I help you, Miss?” She felt a tendril of hair escape from the elaborate bun she had perfected on the flight over as she turned quickly to address the smiling woman behind the reception desk.

“Yes.” She let the sound of her heels clicking against the marble wash over her as she approached the desk. “I’m here for a meeting.”

“And your name, Miss?”

“Agent.” She corrected with a smile. “Agent Eva Green.”

* * *

 

If you’d told 18 year old Napoleon Solo that enlisting in the U.S. Army would result in him spending the rest of his life attending monotonous meetings about Global security and the rise of the Russians, well, he’d have laughed at you before telling you about the wonders he was going to see during his time in Europe.

And, to be fair to 18 year old Napoleon, he did have quite the time as part of the occupying forces; handling art he could only dream of, dancing till dawn with any woman he set his eyes on and the money – so much money.

But, here he was; in Langley, Virginia sat next to the grumpiest agents the world could source in yet another unnecessary meeting about Russia. He would give his left arm for some of the excitement he had once tasted in his youth or even just someone better looking than balding Agent Bennett.

Napoleon let out a sigh as Bennett turned yet another page in the folder he was reading aloud from and a quick glance at his own copy of the report told him all he needed to know; this wasn’t ending any time soon.

They’d only been here for 10 minutes, Solo realised as he checked his watch, not even bothering to conceal his actions from the boring Agent. 10 minutes in an uncomfortable chair with the air conditioning unit only teasing him with wisps of a cool breeze.

The opening of the conference room door startled everyone sat at the long table and Solo could have jumped for joy as the interruption cut off Bennett’s never-ending speech.

“This is confidential meeting!” Bennett’s face went from calm to beetroot-red angry in a second as his eyes landed on the secretary standing in the doorway. “You’d better have a good reason for interrupting!”

The woman looked like she was about to burst into tears, Solo mused as she fidgeted in the entrance; he made a note to make her smile on his way past her desk later – it was amazing what a quick compliment could do for these poor women.

“I have Agent Green from MI5, Sir.”

Agent Green? Napoleon cast his eyes around the table before noticing that there was indeed an empty spot there and as luck would have it; it was directly beside him. Wonderful. MI5 was known for being full of stuffy men who thought their heritage guaranteed them a spot at the big-boy’s table.

“Then send them in!”

Solo felt his throat dry as his visions of another balding man in a cheap suit were shattered by the pencil-skirt wearing blonde, currently stepping into the room with a frown.

“I thought this meeting was scheduled for 11?” Oh the accent nearly killed him; he’d always had a thing for women with accents.

“It was.”

“Then why, may I ask, have you started?” She glanced pointedly at the clock on the wall beside her that clearly read 10:45.

“We were all here.” Bennett told her and Napoleon had to give it to the man; if he had been the one standing he’d have either buckled as soon as she opened her mouth or immediately started flirting.

“Obviously not.”

Napoleon grinned: oh she had him there. The room watched as a phenomenon occurred before them; Bennett, a man known for his sexism and unflappable-ness, withered under her stare.

“Yes…well…” The balding man scratched his neck nervously as the blonde’s eyebrow raised un-amusedly. “…if you’d like to take a seat, Agent Green, we’ve only covered the introduction so far.”

She held her stare for only a moment longer before turning and striding towards the empty chair. Napoleon didn’t know whether to kiss her or applaud her as she settled into the office chair and flicked open the folder waiting for her.

He watched her from the corner of his eye as Bennett hesitantly re-started the meeting and for the first time ever was grateful for the time being taken for it allowed him to properly study the woman at his side.

America, for all of its greatness, didn’t breed women like this, never mind allow them into their Security Services as Agents. She was obviously good at her job, that went without saying; her mere presence at this table marked her out as someone to know in MI5, she was young too; mid-twenties at the most which made her progression in this business even more remarkable.

She too was not paying attention to Bennett; instead she was flicking through the folder before her, skimming the bulks of writing and instead focusing on the few pictures that had been added.

He thanked whatever God or celestial being was watching over him this morning as she reached into her bag for what he assumed was a pen before coming up short; this was his chance.

* * *

 

No matter where she was or what she was doing, Agent Eva Green always carried a pen. Always. Which was why, when she reached into her bag and her fingers closed around nothing but air, did she frown.

She quickly replaced her hand onto the table top and tried to act calm; she needed a pen. The folder in front of her was screaming out for some annotation and she’d just spotted something in one of those photographs that needed circling because she knew she’d forget about it within the hour.

She was known for her notes; mission debriefings and status reports that had her name signed at the bottom always came with a few notes in the margins or certain words circled for emphasis, Lord knows it was the details she made stand out that had often saved not just her own life but others too.

She needed a pen. But she’d rather fail than let the sweaty man who had so kindly welcomed her into the meeting, know she was in the slightest way un-prepared for this. The file she had brought in with her had listed the names of everyone presently at the table, she was unsurprised to learn she was the only female, and Waverly had included a few handwritten notes of his own; just a quick summary of each man and she was more than sure that her gracious host was Agent William Bennett; renowned sexist and altogether pathetic agent.

Waverly had noted that the man often preferred to carry out missions from behind a desk and encouraged younger agents to get their hands dirty before swooping in to collect all praise. Wonderful.

She reached again for a pen as another comment in the folder jumped out at her and desperately tried to hide a huff of annoyance as she remembered her pen-less situation.

She obviously failed though, judging by the almost silent laugh that left the Agent beside her and she wanted nothing more than to scream at the levels of testosterone coursing through the room before wiping the smiles off of every Agent I’m-A-Man-So-I’m-A-Better-Spy around her.

She felt her mouth open, ready to tell him exactly where to stick his smugness, just as he reached into the inside pocket of his suit and retrieved a pen. Her mouth closed.

“Agent Solo.” He whispered as he offered her the piece of stationery.

“Eva Green.” She replied, taking the pen and smiling gratefully at the man. “I mean; Agent Green…of MI5.” She mentally kicked herself for her unnecessary introductions; of course she was an Agent; the secretary had announced her as such and of course she was MI5, who else would have her accent?!

“A pleasure to meet you, Eva.” His smile was lethal, she noted as she began scribbling on the documents in front of her, very aware that he was still watching her.

A smile like that could get her into serious trouble…his silky voice too…


	3. Chapter 3

Fairfax, Virginia; 1958 

It had taken her a while but, Agent Eva Green was pleased to report that a mere 10 days after landing at Washington International Airport and setting foot into the CIA’s Headquarters for the first time; she had finally managed to find her way around without having to stop at various desks and ask for directions.

Sure, there were still moments when she had to turn around because, let’s face it, all marble corridors look the same when you’re not really paying attention. But, with a few well-placed friends in the secretarial pool and the ice-broken with some of the less sexist Agents, she had done it; America was conquered…or at least Langley was.

The smile on Eva’s face was more genuine than it had been in the past few days as she effortlessly navigated the building, a bundle of files in her hands. Yes, she thought, today was going to be a good day. She had finally made her small cubicle feel homely amongst the sterile workplaces of her colleagues and the headache she had expected to be nagging at her from last night’s activities, was surprisingly absent.

“You’ve been avoiding me, Agent Green.”

She jumped at the sudden appearance of one of her aforementioned colleagues and quickly corrected the stumble in her stride as Agent Solo fell into step beside her.

“Avoiding? No. Busy with work?” She nodded to the files in her hand. “Yes.” She corrected managing to force a small smile before speeding up her trek through the building.

“So busy you can’t meet for drinks?”

“Exactly.” She turned a corner sharply and hid a grin as he missed it and was forced to jog after her.

“But you went out with the secretaries last night.” He pointed out. She stopped suddenly, frowning as she mentally repeated his words.

“Are you stalking me, Agent Solo?” She asked, an eyebrow quirked as he rounded to face her in the narrow corridor.

“It’s a local spot.” He shrugged. “But back to the topic at hand…” He trailed off, watching as she shifted uncomfortably at the change. “…you’re avoiding me.”

She flashed him another strained smile as she pushed past him and made her way further along the marble corridor, her emerald heels clicking against the harsh material.

“I assure you, Agent So-”

“It was Bennett wasn’t it?” She stopped, her shoulders tensing. “Of course it was Bennett.” He sighed and she turned to watch his own shoulders deflate. “He gets a kick out of telling people.”

“To be fair to Agent Bennett, nobody else was going to tell me the truth about who you are and what you did.”

“Which is?” He glanced over his shoulder to her.

“You’re a criminal, Agent Solo.” She reminded him. “You have a 15 year suspended sentence for robbery, handling stolen goods and serial theft of arts and antiquities.” It pained her slightly at how well she knew his bio and cringed as she realised she was probably conjuring images of her spending her nights devouring the personnel files of her supposed allies…not that it was far from the truth in this case. “You saw the devastation the war left behind and you sought a profit from it.”

When Agent Bennett had cornered her and handed her a black file with her favourite CIA Agent’s name across the front, only days after arriving in the country, she had been suspicious to say the least but with his warning of; “You should know before you get too friendly with him”. She had digested the contents in the privacy of her hotel room that very night and it had broken her heart.

“I don’t suppose it would make difference if I told you that I was a changed man?”

“No, Agent Solo, I don’t think it would.”

* * *

It had killed him a little to watch her walk away from him out of the corner of his eye. He’d honestly hoped that maybe just once, someone would see him as more than a list of wrongdoings and instead focus on the successful, charming and well-dressed man before them.

He took a moment, in that narrow corridor, to wish that he hadn’t been so stupid all those years ago. Perhaps he still would have found his way to the hallowed halls of the CIA but he also might have had the chance of friendship with the British Agent.

Shaking his head, he pushed off from the wall and retraced his footsteps back to the intersection where he had first noticed the blonde Agent, humming to herself as she took a sharp right.

Standing on that small insignificant marble intersection, Napoleon Solo made one of the most important decisions of his life as he decided that he would not be allowing Eva to walk away from him; not without hearing his side of the story.

It was time to pull in a few favours from the girls in the secretary pool.

* * *

Eva had known that something was up when the secretaries had suddenly appeared at her cubicle late in the afternoon. Their insistence that she join them for cocktails after work had, on the surface, seemed like a friendly gesture. She had nothing against the women; they had after all had many good nights out since she had arrived in the U.S. but their smiles had been just a little too bright and their goading a little too rehearsed that when she agreed, they had all begun giggling.

And so, as she stepped into the quiet bar at 7:16pm on a Tuesday night, Eva was far more interested in solving the mystery behind the invitation than realising it had absolutely nothing to do with the secretaries at all.

She had been sitting, alone, at the bar, her fingers twirling the cocktail stick that had 10 minutes ago been skewering an olive, for too long she decided as she drained her drink. And with another glance around the bar, she knew that the girls had absolutely no plans to join her tonight. She reached for her bag as it sat on the empty bar stool to her left but turned as the sound of a glass sliding along the wooden bar filled her ears. Frowning at the full glass of martini, she heaved a sigh before fully turning to greet its buyer.

“I take it you are responsible for the absence of my friends?” She asked eyeing the smirking Agent carefully.

“I know absolutely nothing about such a thing.” He told her, the lie falling from his lips so easily that she rolled her eyes.

“I’m sure.” She drawled, lifting the martini glass to her lips and allowing the translucent liquid to slide down her throat. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Agent Solo?”

“I realised that we haven’t had a proper chance to get to know each other.” He reasoned, also taking a sip of the drink in front of him. “And I sought to rectify that.”

“How generous of you.”

“What can I say?” He smiled, his arms open wide. “So, Eva…if I may call you that?” She nodded, her fingers toying with the stem of her glass while the other lay across the bar, clearly marking out her personal space as he leant in. “What brings you to our mighty shores?”

“Are we really going to do this, Napoleon?” She asked with a sigh. “Pretend that I don’t know about you?”

“Ahh, but you see, you don’t know about me…at least not everything.” He pointed out. “For instance; my father was a janitor.”

“Fascinating.”

“Come now, aren’t you the least bit intrigued as to how I found myself on the devilish path to the CIA?”

She pondered his question for a while before draining her glass and turning to face him fully.

“Fine.” He grinned at her. “But we’re doing this my way.” She reached out and snatched his brandy from his lose grip before slipping from the bar stool and heading towards a secluded booth at the back of the room. “Be a good man and get another round in.” She shook the brandy as she walked. “Martinis are reserved solely for girl’s night.”

“Yes ma’am.”

* * *

“So your father was a janitor?” She asked as he slid into the booth opposite her.

“Indeed.” He told her. “Emigrated here from Ireland; which tells me nothing on where the name Napoleon came from.” He grinned as she laughed at that; the ice slowly melting away from between them as he spoke. “But it was my mother who introduced me to art; she used to love filling our house with anything and everything that was beautiful, whether it was from the second-hand store or just a newspaper clipping of some priceless painting that spoke to her soul.” He smiled sadly as the memories came flooding back.

“What did she do?” She asked, the drinks long forgotten as she was pulled further and further into the story of Napoleon Solo.

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “Where I come from, the women usually don’t. They raise the babies and have dinner ready when the husband’s come home. But she could have done anything.” He told her, his eyes bright as he thought of the woman that had raised him. “Today, with all of these art galleries and photographers roaming the streets, I just know she was born in the wrong decade.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Napoleon.” She broke him from his reverie.

“No need.” He waved away the notion of sympathy and instead took a long drink. “Anyway, it was the old man who first told me that you can’t get anywhere in life unless you take whatever you need to go forward.” He smiled. “A lesson I took to heart unfortunately.”

“And you never thought to instead earn it?” She asked, her posture straightening as they arrived at the topic that had caused the iciness in the first place.

“Let me ask you, Eva, what did your father do?”

“He was a lawyer.” Napoleon simply shrugged as if to say _I’ve proved my point._ “And my mother was a teacher but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what it’s like to fight for a seat at the table, Agent Solo.” She told him, her voice rising as she defended herself. “I’ve earnt everything; it’s my hard work and dedication that has got me where I am.”

“Same here.” He reminded her. “Just…on the other side of the tracks.” She shook her head at the man and pushing aside her drink, made to leave.

“Agent Solo, I think-”

“Stop.” His hand was gentle on her wrist. “Don’t go.” She hesitated, the apology in his eyes forcing her back into her seat despite everything else her body was warning her against. “Let’s talk about you instead.”

“I’ve already told you; my father was a-”

“Let’s talk about **you.** ” He reiterated and a silence fell over them as she wondered exactly what he wanted to know. She knew it was uncommon for women here to take full-time jobs never mind join the Intelligence Services but surely she wasn’t that interesting. “Why MI5?”

“Oh that’s an easy one.” She relaxed as the question was posed and felt herself settling back into the soft material.

“Well?” He prompted and she frowned.

“Well…actually it’s not that easy.” She admitted. “And it’s rather a long story.”

“I’ve got all night.”

* * *

 

She wasn’t used to someone hanging off her every word and honestly, it was a little disconcerting but as soon as she opened her mouth to tell her tale of the path to MI5, she couldn’t stop; the look in his eyes always prompting her to continue when she lagged and then they were at the crux of it:

“I still don’t know how he did it, he was far too old, but my father enlisted during the war. He was sent to some far flung place and used to write letters of how exciting it all was and how he couldn’t wait to tell us stories when he returned. But he never did. And it was like a switch flipped in my mother and I watched his death slowly tear her apart; she blamed herself of course for not talking him out of it, but regardless of whose fault it was, my family was torn apart by that war.”

She knew the pain in her eyes was evident but a quick smile from Solo and she was off again.

“I was a child when the surrender came through on the radio. And while for my country it finally meant peace, for me, it meant that my work was only just beginning. As soon as I was old enough, I went to the army office and applied for a job there. In all my naivety I assumed that meant I was going to receive a uniform and be shipped out to be a part of the occupying forces…” She smiled as he tipped an imaginary hat to her. “…but I’d forgotten one very important thing…”

“Which was?”

“I’m a female, Napoleon.” She reminded him, gesturing down to herself. “They poured me into tight clothes and sat me behind a desk where I filled in request forms and directed soldiers to the meeting rooms just above my head. My first day, there was this visiting GI who said to me “ _Sweetheart, get me a cup of a coffee and do it with a smile_.” And I said; “ _I’m here to serve my country not wait on you._ ”

She paused as Napoleon let out a laugh before gesturing for her to continue.

“So he goes: “ _Sweetheart, the only service you can provide for this country is hospitality, now show me that smile of yours and make my day_.” So I did.” She rolled her eyes at the thought of her past self. “And I carried on doing it for a year before something snapped in me and I demanded a chance. I stormed right upstairs to the main office and said; let me run the course with the new recruits; I pass and you give me a uniform, I fail and I’ll happily swing my hips and bat my eyelashes for the rest of my life.”

“What happened?”

“I failed…miserably.” She told him, taking a drink of the amber liquid. “But the next time I walked to that desk that had taunted me for a year, it was my last day at the war office.”

“But you said-”

“There was this guy from MI5 in the crowd as the recruits ran. Said he liked to see that sort of fire in a person regardless of their sex. Told me that I was a useless soldier though and if another war came and the likes of me were filling the trenches, we’d all be speaking German in a week.” She smiled. “But apparently there was another battlefield that needed me; one that was played out by only a handful of people and I could be one…I haven’t looked back.”

And with a shy bat of her eyelashes, Agent Eva Green had successfully stolen the heart of Napoleon Solo. It was careless really, he thought, as an ex-thief he should have seen it coming.


	4. Chapter 4

Washington D.C; 1959

Eva shifted against the leather bench of the Cadillac Eldorado that Napoleon was yet to stop talking about. She rolled her eyes as his hands stroked the thin steering wheel before spouting off another fact about his beloved new car.

“Napoleon, I love you dearly.” She told him, turning to face him as the binoculars she had been peering through came to rest on her lap. “But if you try and enlighten me with another titillating fact about this car which, honestly, looks no different to that blue one over there…” She nodded to the car parked on the street opposite. “…I will kill you.”

“A little melodramatic, dear, don’t you think?” He asked with a laugh as she huffed before returning to peer at the hotel they were parked down the street from.

They sat in silence for a while; the low hum of the radio the only source of noise as they passed the set of binoculars back and forth, waiting for their marks to arrive.

“I hate fake engagement rings.” She sighed, glancing down at the gaudy rock on her finger as Napoleon took his turn with the binoculars. “They’re just so…fake.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to tell Bennett that and we’ll see about getting you a real diamond that big.”

“You know what I mean.” She chided, rolling her eyes as he gave up on staring at the distant entrance to the luxury hotel. “It’s not just that this diamond is fake…it’s that, even if it were real; it doesn’t mean anything.” She explained, toying with the ring. “All it is, is an unnecessary beacon telling the world that this woman is off limits and whenever anybody comments on it she had to fawn over her fiancé as though he’s bloody Jesus!”

“So when I propose, stick with simple?” Solo joked, nudging her to move her attention from the admittedly huge rock.

“Exactly.” She smiled at him, finding comfort in his easy smile and joking words.

She had been more surprised than anyone when, after their little heart-to-heart last year, they had become inseparable. It was as though an unbreakable bond had formed as they spent hours trading stories of their youth and their struggles to carve out places for themselves in their respective Intelligence Services.

Bennett had of course hated it. The man was baffled as the pair regularly met for drinks after a tough day and his never ending sneer at their growing friendship had resulted in many a glare thrown their way as they whispered through his debriefings.

She’d like to think that she’d had a calming effect on the Agent at her side and truthfully, she probably had; the man paid far more attention these days and she often found him making notes almost as meticulous as her own.

But despite all of that, she had a lot to be grateful for as well; Solo had actively encouraged her to not take things so seriously and to let her hair down once in a while, though she suspected he wasn’t quite expecting to find her in the centre of the dancefloor last month when they’d been in Miami chasing a lead. She stifled a laugh as the look on his face returned to her mind; the usually polished Agent had been agape as he watched her twirl and laugh with the locals, the fruity cocktails in his hands forgotten as he immediately joined her; her red strappy cocktail dress flaring out as he took her hand and they lost themselves to the insatiable rhythms around them.

“And if I’m not mistaken…” She was broken from her thoughts by Solo’s characteristic drawl and watched as the man leant forward, the binoculars glued to his eyes. “…that’s them.” She too leant forward and let out a sigh of relief as the pale green soft-top pulled up outside the hotel.

“Finally.” They had been sat here for three hours. “Ready?” She asked, primping her hair one last time before they exited the car.

“Ready, my sweet.” He grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to the fake engagement ring before stepping out of the vehicle and jogging around to hold the door open for her.

* * *

“Really darling, must you abandon me again?” Eva asked, her perfected American accent dripping as she clung onto Solo’s arm. “You know how lonely I get.” Batting her eyelashes up at him, she felt the urge to vomit as she pictured how they must look to the rest of the guests in the hotel lobby.

“I know sweetheart, but it’s only for a few hours.” She had to give it to Solo; he was excellent at this role. Although, the amount of times they had played it over the past year, she’d be concerned if he wasn’t any good at it.

“Can I help you?” They both tore their eyes away from each other as they reached the desk and with a pout, Eva turned away from her ‘husband’ as he checked them in. allowing her fingers to dance over the wood, her gaze danced around the room and sure enough; they had an audience.

“Are you here for the poker game, Sir?” The clerk asked and Eva turned back to the pair.

“What else?” She sighed dramatically, picking an imaginary piece of dirt from Napoleon’s collar. “There isn’t anything in this world that could tear my husband away from our bed, unless there’s the prospect of handling a dirty pack of cards.”

“Forgive my wife.” Napoleon’s eyes twinkled as he glanced down to her. “She gets awfully huffy whenever I’m due a big game.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Have I ever lost?” That was the line that sealed it; she could feel the atmosphere behind them change and she was sure that the couple loitering a few paces from them were ready to swoop in.

“Not yet.” She conceded, lifting onto her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Your key; Sir, Ma’am.” The clerk offered them a tight smile as he held out the room key. “Your bags will be waiting for you.”

“Excellent.” Napoleon pocked the key. “Now, point us to the bar.”

* * *

It hadn’t taken very long at all for her and Napoleon to be ‘bumped into’ at the bar and soon enough they were sitting with the very couple they had been waiting for only moments earlier.

“I hear you’re playing tonight.” Eva felt the tip of her nose sneer slightly as Lindon Barclay; renowned poker cheat who used his winnings to fund various arms deals, leant forward from his bucket seat to tap the edge of his cigarette against the crystal ashtray perched on the small table they had congregated around.

“You hear correctly.” Solo smiled as she was sucked into an inane conversation with the one and only Samantha Barclay.

Eva had her suspicions about the woman; she was too perfectly coiffed and her words too…rehearsed as they chatted about the latest styles before moving onto the topic Eva had been leading them towards for some time now.

“And what are your plans for tonight?” Samantha asked as she too tapped the ashes away from her cigarette.

“Same as always.” Eva sighed. “A good luck kiss and then whatever poor selection of magazine the hotel offers.”

“Poor you.” Samantha cooed before pretending to have an ingenious idea. “Well you simply must join myself and the other wives instead!” Eva forced a confused look as the woman tittered on. “Oh we have this little tradition; we all watch the first few hands for good luck before retiring next door for drinks; it can be such a lonely evening otherwise.”

“A marvellous idea.” Eva agreed before turning and tapping Napoleon on the arm, pulling him from his own conversation. “I trust you would happy with this, dear?”

“With what, my love?”

“Me joining the other wives tonight.” He glanced over to Lindon; the man watching them intensely.

“Any opportunity to see you, my love, is fine with me.”

* * *

The slinky silver cocktail dress was like a second skin on her as she and Napoleon descended the hotel’s main staircase together. The foyer was abuzz with activity; men and women stood together in groups, sipping at drinks as they eagerly awaited the start of the poker game.

“Tell me you know what you’re doing.” She pressed as they weaved through the crowds.

“I know what I’m doing.” He chuckled as he reassured her for the third time since they’d left the room and, with a quick squeeze of the hand in the crook of his elbow, all worries vanished from her -face and her persona fell into place.

* * *

“I know what I’m doing.” She repeated his words from earlier as she pulled against the rope restraints holding her to the chair. “I know what I’m doing.” She mocked, blowing a fallen strand of hair from her face. “Why do I trust you?” She craned her neck to steal another glance at the man sat behind her. There was still no answer from him and she sighed. “Come on Napoleon, you need to wake up.” She pulled at her bindings once again, the chair back slamming against his as she uselessly fought against the coarse knots.

“Can’t a guy get a nap in peace?” She wanted to kiss and kill him at the same time as his groggy words filled her ears. “What happened?”

“You were too good.” She told him, her arms falling limp as she gave up on the rope. “And too cocky and then they hit you.” Her voice was devoid of emotion as she recalled how quickly Napoleon had been pinned by Lindon Barclay’s stooges before the attack began.

“That…” He began as he tried to roll his shoulders. “…I remember.”

“I’m surprised you can remember anything with the force they hit you.”

“What happened next?”

“Well, once you were motionless in a pool of your own blood, they dragged you into the adjoining room and tied us together.” She sighed. “And we’ve been here for the last two hours.”

“Where are they?”

“Probably turning over our room.” She told him. “Or figuring out where to bury us once they’ve killed us.” She felt him begin to attack the ropes with the same vigour she’d had when they’d first been imprisoned in this damned room. “I told you this was a stupid plan, Napoleon…he’s an arms dealer and we tried to ensnare him with a poker game.”

“It was a good plan.”

“Clearly.”

* * *

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it coming.

The first few hands had gone completely to plan; he’d started well and stayed firmly in the middle of the game, then he’d lost once or twice before building up a good streak of decent wins. The plan was to then end up in a one-on-one game with Barclay, from there Napoleon would have to judge the situation and end up with enough of a repertoire with the man that a partnership would be discussed.

He’d judged it wrong.

From there it was all a bit of a blur really. All he could remember were hands forcing him to his knees and then a flurry of blows and a flash of silver as Eva was caught by another of Barclay’s goons. He could make out her face as clear as day; the anguish as more and more blows hit him, her arms forced behind her as she tried to fight the man holding her; the man three times her size.

And then there was damp carpet under his cheek and a red stain forming around it. There was a flicker as a silver dress broke free and then a hand on his head, smoothing back his hair before she was pulled away from him and his eyes flickered shut.

Waking up and not being able to move his arms was more of a shock than it should have been, really. He’d hoped it had all been a bad dream and the jolt that had woken him would be from an elbow as Eva spotted their marks entering the hotel. But no, they weren’t in the Cadillac, they were in some sitting room off the main ballroom and it had been the back of her chair as she struggled against restraints.

Yes, he’d definitely judged it wrong.

“It was a good plan.” He insisted. And it had been; nobody had been able to get close to Lindon Barclay in a professional measure and then they’d received a piece of intel stating that Barclay had met his right-hand man at a poker game. He’d apparently been so impressed with the calm demeanour and determination to win that he’d hired him on the spot.

Recreating it had been a solid plan. But of course Eva had disagreed and said it was too risky; they were too exposed and there was no chance of back-up in the busy hotel. He’d eventually swayed her and now…well now there was a length of rope biting into his wrist as he fought with it.

“Clearly.” She snorted and he tried to ignore the fact that she wasn’t fighting the rope anymore; that she’d given up.

“Help me get these ropes off.” He instructed, twisting his hands to try and find some give in the bindings. “Eva, we’ve got to get out of these.” He insisted as he felt no movement behind him.

“What do you think I’ve been doing while you were napping?” She bit out. “I can’t get the knot and my wrists are smaller than yours so what makes you think that-” She stopped as his fingers brushed against hers. There was a heartbeat of silence before she stretched out to get a better grip and intertwined their fingers. “They kept hitting you.”

She paused and he had to give it her; any other agent would probably be shaking or crying right now but she was just…stoic.

“They kept hitting you and then they wouldn’t let me check that you were alive.”

“I’m alive.” He assured her. “And still ravishing underneath all these bruises.” He felt a smile tug at his lips as she laughed.

“Well thank heavens for that.” She joked and he felt a breath of relief leave him as her fingers moved from his and began pulling at her ropes again. “Because the moment you become ugly, I’m requesting a new partner.”

“I knew you only kept me around for my looks.”

“Why else would I put up with you?”

“Because the lock on my cufflink is incredibly sharp?” He asked and felt her go still. “And because there’s a bug under the poker table?”

“Oh you beautiful man.” She breathed as she reached out and he felt her fingers brush over his wrists as she strained to reach his cufflinks. He felt the small weight on his shirt sleeve fall and grinned as the next sound in the room was the gentle sawing of rope.

* * *

“I don’t know how you two keep pulling it off.”

Agent Bennett’s glare was doing nothing to dampen the grins of the two agents stood in front of him.

“Let’s call it excellent pairing.” Napoleon offered as he continued to bat away the medic that kept trying to corner him for stiches.

“Hmm.” Bennett eyed them before sighing. “Mission reports on my desk by the end of tomorrow.” He stared at them once more before turning on his heel and stalking off to claim whatever credit he could for the couple in handcuffs that were currently being escorted from the hotel.

“Honestly, I’m not sure how keep pulling it off either.” Eva laughed as she waved to Samantha Barclay.

“Like I said, Agent Green…” Napoleon smiled as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and place it across her bare shoulders. “…excellent pairing.”

They shared a smile as she slipped her arms through the huge sleeves now encasing her.

“That looks nasty.” She said as she rose onto her tiptoes to inspect the slash across his jaw that was still dribbling blood.

“I’m fi-”

He cut himself off as her hand clamped around his arm and began dragging him towards the waiting medic. As he was forced into a chair he watched the woman as she argued with the medic until a damp cloth was handed to her and she began to clean the dried blood from his face.

“If they’d told me you were a fusser, I might not have agreed to partner you.”

“Agreed to partner with me?” She asked, disbelief filling her voice. “I believe, Agent Solo, that I was the one the CIA needed to convince.”

“You say Pot-ay-to…” His smirk turned into a wince as she pressed down on one of the many cuts littering his face.

He was quiet as she gently wiped away all evidence of the beating he had taken only hours. He watched her from the corners of his eyes and tried not to smile as she kept pulling the blazer back onto her shoulder as it slipped down. He felt his heart swell at the look of concentration on her face as she swapped the cloth for a new one and tried to stem the bleeding from particularly insistent cut, when was the last time anyone had taken the time to patch him up post mission? He couldn’t remember it ever happening until the stubborn Brit had strutted into his life.

“I didn’t listen to you.”

“When do you ever?” Her laughter stopped as he reached up to still her hands from their mission of ridding his face of blood. “Napoleon, what’s the matter?”

“I didn’t listen to you and then put you in danger.” He told her as he rose to stand before her.

“That’s the job, Napoleon.” She reminded him, stepping forward to intertwine their fingers again. “But if I’m going to be in danger with anyone…I’d rather it be the man with a knife for a cufflink.” She smiled as she lifted their hands to show him the remaining cufflink.

There was a moment of silence between them as the business of the CIA clearing the street of bystanders and the hotel manager trying to calm remaining guests back into the building, began to fade. Napoleon could almost feel the change in the air around them as the situation they had found themselves in became apparent. He watched as she swallowed nervously before her eyes flickered back up to his and then, he knew what he had to do.

His hands slid from her grasp and skimmed the air for only a second before they came to rest on her waist, the slicing of the sequinned material of her dress forgotten as he pulled her the tiniest bit closer.

He closed the gap with a dip of his head and finally, he kissed her. She responded immediately, her one hand cupping the underside of his jaw as the other bunched the material of his shirt in her fist.

“I have to call my boss.” That was the first, breathless thing she told him as they parted. “He’s been trying to get hold of me all day.”

“Of course.” He told her, noting rather smugly that she was yet to let him go. “You should definitely do that.”

“I will…” There was another pause between them as her eyes flickered back to his lips. “…later.”


	5. Chapter 5

** London; 1959  **

The flight from Washington had been long and exhausting, Napoleon thought to himself as he made his way through the airport, dodging the still screaming toddler from the flight who was now straining in his mother’s arms to grab onto anything that passed in an effort to spread his misery.

All the American agent wanted was a stiff drink and to find whoever had been assigned to collect him. The first, it seemed, was highly unlikely as he eyed the lack of a bar in Arrivals and wistfully recalled the ice cold whiskey he’d received at Washington National as he waited for his flight to be called.

The second, however, was apparently about to happen as he stepped through the glass double doors separating the main terminals from collection and his eyes landed on a grim man in a cheap grey suit waiting stoically.

Exhaling deeply at the sight of another boring agent, he reluctantly made the turn to approach the man just as a voice rang out through the hall.

“Napoleon!” He turned on instinct and felt a smile break out onto his features as the crowd before him parted to reveal a ray of sunshine on this dismally grey day his plane had arrived in.

She was breath-taking in canary yellow pedal-pushers and a black tank top while her ruby fingernails were daintily holding a piece of card with his name scrawled in her familiar loopy handwriting.

“Eva Green.” They enveloped each other in a hug before the words had left his mouth and Napoleon was once again reminded of how small she was compared to his broad stature.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you!” She gushed as they pulled apart and grinned at each other. “When they told me that the CIA’s most narcissistic agent was due to land, I knew that no other welcome would be satisfactory.”

“You know me so well.” His smile still hadn’t faded as he bent down to pick up his discarded suitcase and wrap his free arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to press a kiss into her hair.

* * *

They still hadn’t talked about what happened that night at the hotel and Napoleon was hoping that was because Eva had been unexpectedly shipped back home barely a week after it happened and not because she was regretting it.

He let his gaze flicker over to the blonde as she yelled at the driver of the car in front of them and withheld a smirk as she flipped him a very un-ladylike hand gesture as she overtook him.

Damn he hoped she wasn’t regretting it because he sure as hell wasn’t. Truthfully, it had been on his mind since the very second they parted from their embrace and had been playing on a loop ever since.

Not seeing his partner in far more than just crime-fighting, for three months had been slowly killing him especially as there appeared to be no reason for it.

One minute they were lip-locked (God, he sounded like a teenage girl) outside the hotel and then they were in separate cars and the next thing he hears is that her Commander called her back home and suddenly he was carrying her suitcases down from her rented apartment and saying goodbye to her outside Washington National.

“Get out of my way!!” Her eyes were wild as the tiny red car ahead swerved in and out of the lanes and his driver leant on the horn of the car she’d giddily led him to. “Arsehole!!” God he’d missed her.

* * *

“And I’m going to show you all of London!” She proclaimed, the amber liquid sloshing against the sides of the crystal tumbler she was holding as she practically spun around the room. “All of it!” She insisted.

“I have been to London before.” He reminded her. “I’ve done Oxford Street, regent Street, Bond Street…all the streets.” He laughed as she plopped down beside him on the cream carpet of his new home.

“I’m not talking about the boring sights.” She pressed, their shoulders nudging each other as she spoke, her penchant for speaking rather expressively through arm movements. “Parliament, The Tower, London Bridge…” She blew a raspberry at the thought of dragging him around all those obviously touristy, though admittedly interesting, sights. “I’m going to show you my London.”

“Your London?” He laughed, reaching for the bottle she had produced from the trunk of her small car as they pulled up outside the apartment block.

“My London.” She repeated. “There are all these little places that nobody ever finds because they’re too busy posing with bloody Beefeaters.” She accepted the refill gratefully. “Oh we’re going to have a wonderful time, Napoleon.” She sighed, leaning into his shoulder as the low lighting shone on the drink in her hand.

Napoleon grinned as she nestled further into the crumpled material of his shirt, the blazer he’d strode through the airport in now draped over one of the piles of moving boxes that had arrived the day before.

The apartment was completely bare; the only usable rooms being the kitchen and bathroom and the only furniture in the space was the sofa they were currently leant against as they sprawled on the floor, and a double bed with a neat pile of blankets on top that were obviously courtesy of Eva. But it warmed his heart. He had everything he could possibly want right here; a roof, a new mission and his girl snoozing on his shoulder.

“Come on you.” He slid the glass from her grasp trying to avoid any stains on the pristine carpet only a handful of hours after taking ownership of the place.

“Hmm?” Oh, she was so drunk, he laughed to himself as he repositioned her against the sofa and stood. “I‘m tired, ‘poleon.” She murmured, her head lolling back against the material.

“I can see.” He bit back a laugh and wished he had his camera; the blasted thing was in one of those boxes. “Come on.” He lifted her effortlessly, her sunshine yellow clad legs dangling over one arm as he cradled her back with the other.

Nudging open the door to his small bedroom he carefully made his way in; narrowly avoiding slamming her head against the doorjamb. She all but slid from his hold as soon as her body felt the soft mattress underneath her and in a second she was curled away from him, eyes softly shut as her breathing deepened.

He chuckled as she spread out over half of the bed, a content sleep smile on her lips.

“I guess that’s your side then.”

* * *

“I can’t believe you spent your first night here on the floor.” She grumbled, rubbing her eyes as she dropped down onto the sofa as a steaming mug was pressed into her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He laughed, making his way back to the kitchen. “You were adorable.”

“Adorable.” She scoffed. “I’m sure.”

“I’m afraid that coffee is all I can offer you this fine morn.” They both glanced out of the window at this sour words and Eva sneered at the grey rain lashing against the glass. “My refrigerator is unfortunately bare.”

“Dammit!” Eva exclaimed as he spoke. “I meant to do a food run before you landed but I couldn’t get away from the office and then traffic was awful and…why are you grinning at me?”

He reached forward and plucked the mug from her hands, setting it down next to the abandoned bottle of whiskey from the night before.

“Napol-” She cut herself off as his hand cupped her jaw and pulled her lips to his own. Seconds later she was kneeling on the sofa, her hands against his shoulders as his arm pulled her closer. “Nap-” She stopped again as his lips moved to start nipping at the exposed skin of her neck. “What are we doing?” She asked breathlessly as his forehead came to rest in the space between her collarbone and neck.

“Where I come from…” He murmured. “…this is called making out.”

“I know that Napoleon.” She sighed, pushing his head from her and forcing him to look her in the eye, ignoring how his hands were still on her waist; the pads of his thumbs slowly pulling her shirt from where it was tucked into her trousers. “And I know you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Tell me you don’t like it…” He said, his voice lower than she’d ever heard it as he leant forward once again and pressed a long kiss to her cheek. “…and I’ll stop.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Liar.” She huffed but was pleasantly shocked when he did indeed pull away and she unfolded herslef, sitting back onto the sofa and facing forward. “Dammit Eva, can’t I just enjoy kissing you? No ulterior motives?”

“There are so many rules, Napoleon…you know how complicated our lives are.”

“And yet here we are; together and completely uncomplicated.” His hand moved to toy with the ends of her hair as she bit her lip, her face the picture of uncertainty.

“If anyone ever found out…”

“We’re tough Eves.” She smiled at the nickname. “We can handle it.” She sighed, staring down at the abandoned beverages on the floor. “Now, if you could just admit that you also enjoying kissing me…” He smirked at her. “…then that’s exactly what we can go back to doing.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Come on Eves…just admit it.” His hands were crawling back up towards her waist, skimming the tight fabric clinging to her thighs as he slowly turned her back to him.

“You’re a pouty child when you don’t get what you want, aren’t you?”

“Admit it.”

“No.” She laughed, swatting him away as he coaxed the sensitive spot at the back of her neck with one of his fingers.

“Admit it.” He murmured, effortlessly turning her on the sofa so they were face to face, his hand on the back of her neck pulling her closer. “You know you want to.”

God she did. She let her eyes flutter closed as they drew nearer and fought to rid her head of every negative thought that was currently screaming at her to claw back as much professionalism as was still possible with this man who had completely captivated her from the get go.

“Napoleon…”

“Hmmm?” He was back at her neck and she couldn’t help the hands that were bunched in his shirt.

“Just kiss me already.” He grinned victoriously against her neck and all but pulled her into his lap, her legs falling either side of him as she laughed, her hair falling down her back at the movement.

“Yes ma’am.” 


	6. Chapter 6

** London; 1960 **

"You're such a baby!" Eva laughed as she danced in and out of the puddles lining the streets, her black knee high boots and tan trench coat keeping her body dry while her hair was beginning to drip. "You've been here a year and still a little drop of rain stalls you."

"It's been torrentially raining for the last month Eves." He reminded her, reaching out to grab her elbow and steady her as she almost slipped whilst his other hand kept a firm grip on his umbrella. "Forgive me for longing for a little sunshine." He grumbled as she pushed away his hold and continued to dance in the falling droplets.

"Baby." She reiterated. "And oh so American." She laughed at his scowl before kicking into a puddle and spraying the hem of his own trench coat with the water.

"Eves." He warned as she giggled. "Eves." She coyly took a step towards another puddle and raised her foot to kick again. "I'm warning yo-" She clapped a hand over her mouth to stem a laugh as she took in the sight of him dripping head to toe from the spray a bus had just soaked him with as it drove past.

"Oh my God." She breathed, still desperately trying to not break into a laugh as he wiped the water from his face and glanced down at his sodden coat. "I've never seen that happen before."

"Let's just…" He ran a hand through his hair. "…Pick up those damn photographs."

"Yes." She let out a small giggle. "Of course." She forced a straight face before skipping back over to him, looping her arm under his and nestling under the umbrella. "If it's any consolation…" She began as they continued to make their way down the street. "…I still think you look very handsome."

* * *

"I'd forgotten about Morocco!" Eva exclaimed as she leafed through the photographs they'd collected. "God…" She sighed, her finger gently tracing the image of the both of them grinning amongst the burning sands. "…it was so hot."

"Yes, you were." The mattress dipped beside her as Napoleon joined her on the bed; a towel slung around his neck and his still dripping slightly. "That bikini." He groaned as she rolled her eyes at him.

"Napoleon." Her fingers tightened around the photographs as the thick jumper she'd curled into was slipped from her shoulder. "Napol-" Her breath caught as his lips attached to her neck and pressed gentle kisses into the creamy skin there.

"Eves…" He whispered against her skin.

"Hmm?"

"Say it again." Her eyes fluttered closed at his words and she swallowed softly. "Eves." He pressed.

"I love you."

And she did. Truly. Its why she'd told him so when three months ago; he'd blindfolded her, driven her through London, led her up a flight of stairs and then with a gentle 'ta-dah' had pushed open the door to the apartment overlooking one of London's many parks. Their apartment.

They'd been here ever since; together.

The only thing she hadn't told him was how the following day she'd been summoned to Waverly's office and read the riot act for getting involved with 'that bloody American'. But he didn't need to know that. He didn't need to know how her job was in jeopardy every day she spent with him, no matter how many successful missions they now had under their belts as a team; MI5 was still reluctant.

"I love you Napoleon." She repeated, her fingers threading through his jet black hair as he pushed all thoughts of her work away and focused on the man currently pushing their new photographs aside as he crawled closer to her.

"Good." He breathed against her skin. "Then I know I'm not being completely ridiculous when I ask you this…"

"Napoleon?" She frowned at his words, pulling him away from the crook of her neck and making him face her.

"Eves…" He began before shaking his head. "Eva…" He corrected. "…Will you marry me?"

* * *

He'd slipped from the mattress and made his way to her side of the bed before kneeling and pulling a small box from under the bed frame.

It had been perfect, she recalled as she stood alone in the drafty room, shifting from one foot to the other as she waited nervously. He had been on one knee and she had been speechless.

She felt her thumb run over the white gold band as if on instinct; it hadn't moved from her finger since that fateful afternoon.

"Are you ready?" The voice snapped her from her reverie and she turned to the person sticking their head through the double doors leading to her future.

"As I'll ever be." The smile that followed was quite possibly the most natural smile she'd ever had. She was ready. A short inhale of breath and quick smoothing out of her dress and she was moving to stand right in front of the doors.

Head raised, she grinned as they opened and the music started. Eyes focused on the American at the end of the aisle she shook off everything to do with Alexander Waverly and his warning of what would follow if she went through with this, and took her first step forward to new life.

She forced herself to not look at the almost empty pews on either side of her and focused on Napoleon as he stood beside the priest they'd commandeered a few days ago when they'd received the details of their next mission.

Deeming a trip to Paris as the perfect honeymoon (ignoring of course the fact that they'd be tracking down a criminal) they'd jumped head-first into 'wedding planning' which consisted of walking into the first church they found and practically begging for a slot on their preferred day before Eva rushed off to buy a wedding dress while Napoleon rounded up potential witnesses.

She hadn't expected the purchasing of her wedding dress to be such a…memorable occasion. Eva had resigned herself to a high street bought suit but a slip-up in the office had found her returning her suit before being dragged into the huge bridal stores she had dreamed of as a child by the entire secretarial pool of MI5.

It was them she had to thank for the tea length, of-the-shoulder dress complete with laced bodice and poufy under-skirt. The jewelled feather pinned to the side of her head holding her golden hair in a perfect chignon (once again courtesy of the secretaries now beaming at her from the front pews) had been found in the bottom of their wardrobe in the solitary box they were yet to unwrap, a perfect throwback to the wondrous jazz era and a family heirloom to boost; Eva knew that even though her parents weren't there in person, they were with her in some small way.

A quick spin on the balls of her feet as she reached the end of the aisle had her finally facing him and my god, he took her breath away. Napoleon Solo was handsome even when dripping in dirty puddle water but here, in a jet black suit with a crisp white rose tucked into his button-hole, he was heartbreakingly beautiful.

A shared smile, clasped hands and the declaration of two simple words swiftly followed and before she knew it, Mrs Eva Solo was laughing on the step of the church as a cloud of rice rained down on them and the flash of a camera preserved the moment forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Hello! So this is just to let you know that this is probably going to be the last 'story' chapter any updates from here on in will most likely be focusing on the years between 1960 and the start of the film (1963), essentially, little scenarios that Eva and Napoleon get into.
> 
> So, in addition to saying thank you for sticking with me for 6 whole chapters (!) this is where I throw it open to you and let you know that if you have any prompts or mission ideas then just message me or drop me a review and I'll have a go.
> 
> Much love,  
> SpecialAgentFiction xxx


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a snippet; I've got a longer chapter that'll go up soon.   
> Reviews welcome!

**Undisclosed Location; 1961**

Forcing her body into the perfect position for a combat roll upon hitting the ground, Agent Eva Solo sailed through the air after an almost perfect dive off of the top of the building she had been racing across only seconds earlier.

Feeling her body automatically soften her landing, she was up and running again without a second thought; her hair fanning out behind her as she took ever sharp corner and jumped each obstacle thrown in her path with ease.

"Where the hell are you?" She growled, knowing the small device hidden inside her watch would transmit to her partner.

"On my way, dear." Napoleon's voice was as cool as ice, if not a bit crackly, inside her ear where the small transmitter was carefully lodged.

"If you could, sweetheart, make it sooner rather than later." She muttered, not even risking a glance behind her knowing that the burly men that had chased her across the rooftop were still in hot pursuit.

A curse tumbled from her lips as gunshots filled the air and mercifully sailed right past her in the tight alley way she was now pounding down.

"What was that?" His voice was sharper this time and she heard the engine rev in the background as she took another sharp left and jumped a pile of rubbish. "Eves?"

"They're shooting at me." She bit out as more gunshots followed her around the bend and she thanked the practicality of her black clothes as they continued to miss her in the darkness of the night.

"Why are they shooting at you?" Tires screeched as he spoke and she knew she wasn't going to be able to hold out for much longer if he didn't make it soon.

"Because they feel like it, why do you think?!" She hissed grabbing onto a protruding bar and pulling herself into an alcove; her breaths coming out in short raps as she tried to blend in with the scenery. "Where are you?" She whispered as the chasing footsteps slowed.

"Almost there." He promised and she squeezed her eyes shut in defeat as the papers concealed beneath her jacket rustled slightly.

Two gruff voiced filtered over to her and her rudimentary understanding of their language was quickly translating their taunts as they searched for her in the tight space. Her breathing slowed as one stepped out directly in front of her; his back to her as he scanned the opposite alcove in the brickwork.

"Eves…" Napoleon crackled again. "…I'm coming up to the spot." She took a millisecond to judge her situation and work out how much further she'd be running before planting her foot between his shoulder blades and setting off again, noting smugly that he wouldn't be getting up from that hit anytime soon.

With only one person running behind her now and the gate, complete with approaching car, almost in sight, she forced her legs onward, ignoring their cries as her muscles pushed her further and further forward.

She rounded the gate in record time and was speeding away, finally safe in their stolen vehicle, a second later.

"Nice jog?" She turned her head to scowl at Napoleon as he grinned at her from behind the wheel as they tore through the empty streets ahead.

"Where were you?" She gasped, trying to get her breathing under control as he rolled to a gentle stop at a set of traffic lights.

"Slight issue with compound security…" He began, his eyes on the lights ahead and Eva finally noticed the trickle of blood making its way down his face from his hairline, not to mention the already blooming bruises on his knuckles. "…apparently they took offence to the accent."

She let out a laugh at that and then they were off again, at a considerably more relaxed speed as they approached the busier town centre.

"Did you get them?" He asked as they drove past the bustling pavements.

"And enough exercise to qualify me for at least two days of absolute nothingness." She sighed, reaching down to rub at her aching legs. "I lapped that compound twice." She told him.

"Sorry about that." She waved away his apology and settled back against the seat to watch the passing lights.

"At least it was a fitting mission." She frowned at his words and turned back to face him as he neared their hotel. "Paper." He nodded to the hidden pocket against her stomach. "Happy first anniversary."

"Throw in a massage and I'll deem it a suitable present."

"Deal."

Shuffling closer to him and pressing a firm kiss to his cheek she smiled contentedly.

"Happy Anniversary, Napoleon."


	8. Chapter 8

**Paris; 1961**

The music around them was slow and intoxicating as they swayed in the warm night air. The Eiffel Tower was as Napoleon had so eloquently put it; lit up like a giant Christmas tree dipped in nuclear waste.

They were both exhausted and a little battered but he had insisted they stick to their plans and so here they were, in a tiny restaurant with only a small area for dancing among the al fresco tables with the soft bars of a tune that was undeniably French surrounding them.

She was in her favourite place; her hand safely ensconced in his and her ear to his heartbeat as he held her close and let the music guide them. Their steps were small; both refusing to admit how much the days activities had hurt them, though she was acutely aware of how an awkward turn on Napoleon's right hip was making him hiss in pain.

The soft melody was building to a crescendo and she knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't be happy with people just admiring them; the couple embracing so tightly after a day of witnessing bloodshed, and his ego would force him into some elaborate spin or dip and she couldn't take the flare of pain in eyes again.

Pulling away from him, she offered him a tight smile before pushing up and pressing a kiss to his jaw.

"Let's go home, Napoleon." Her voice was barely a murmur and with a stiff nod from her partner, they were scooping up their belongings from the table and were making their way towards a taxi.

* * *

 

Throwing open the balcony doors and letting the humid air fan her as the gauzy curtains blew slightly she was grateful, not for the first time, that MI6 had splurged on the penthouse suite of their hotel.

Behind her, she could hear him shrugging out of his suit jacket and pulling at his tie, likely with a grimace, and wondered how long it was going to take before they were able to get today's carnage from the forefront of their minds.

She relaxed into him as his hands wrapped around her middle and they both stared out at the inky sky and the bustling city below them.

"Let me look at it." She picked up the conversation they'd had while getting ready to leave for the restaurant only hours earlier.

"I'm fine." He mumbled into her hair. "I sorted it."

"I've seen your 'sorted' wounds, Napoleon." She turned in his hold to face him. "And they almost always end up requiring medical attention." She stepped back, letting his arms fall away from her, and onto the balcony. "Just a peek?" She asked as he followed her to the small wrought iron table and chairs.

His fingers were working the buttons of his crisp white shirt as he begrudgingly took a seat and she fought the urge to strangle him as he hissed at her probing fingers on the bandage beneath.

"Yes, that definitely looks _'fine'_." She sighed as she unwrapped the bandage to reveal an angry red slice in his otherwise tan skin. "I'll get the med kit."

She was back inside in a second and rooting through the draws where she'd stashed the always needed kit when they'd first arrived. Kicking off her shoes, she crossed the plush carpets until she was back on the cool stone of their balcony and set the kit down on the table beside him.

"If you'd just let me deal with him, this wouldn't have happened." She reminded him as she retrieved a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and upturned it on a cotton wool ball.

"If I'd let you deal with him, you'd have ended up like the rest of them." She paused as images of the women they'd been sent to rescue filled her mind before quickly shaking her head and pressing the ball onto the cut and ignoring his hiss of; "Damn it, Eva."

"Don't be such a baby." She admonished, dropping the ball and poking at the now clean wound as she tried to determine whether it would require stitches.

"It doesn't seem like we were here only a year ago." He mused, his gaze once again fixed on the shining city as memories of their honeymoon surfaced. "Something's different."

"Maybe it's us." She offered, opting against stitches and instead placing the largest plaster they had over it.

"Maybe." He echoed, turning back to her as she re-zipped the medical case.

They shared a soft smile as he opened his arms to her and she obligingly perched on his leg, his arms wrapping her closer as they both stared out at Paris. Her head instinctively came to rest on his chest as his broad frame protected her and her flimsy dress from the late night breezes.

Yes, this was her favourite place in the whole worlds; in his arms.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we seem to be coming close to the end of this little story; I've got the next chapter ready to go and then only one more and we'll be back in Movie-verse!
> 
> Reviews are not just welcome but encouraged, remember; love = faster updates. <3

**New York City; 1961**

1960's London was one thing, Eva mused as she gazed lovingly at the wondrous city and country she had left all those years ago, but 1960's New York was definitely where they were meant to be; one look at the love-struck grin on her husband's face told her they'd made the right choice.

The vaguely worded letter from the CIA had been sat on their welcome mat for months and tearing into the envelope as they collapsed onto the sofa mere hours after touching down from another far-flung mission, the urgent words had prompted a crease between Napoleon's brows that hadn't shifted until they'd managed to get a call through to the Virginia based offices.

Being re-called to one's home nation at the drop of a hat was expected when you pledged your allegiance to a specific flag but it had been surprising with just how much time they'd allocated their thief-turned-Agent to pack up his life and return to the States. Even more surprising had been their insistence that he bring his wife.

She'd never seen Waverly's eyebrows rise so far when she showed him the letter.

Things were better between them now, in the 14 months since she'd wed Napoleon, the pair had more successful missions under their belt than any agency thought possible; but they'd proved themselves. Long haul flights and all-nighters all added up to a 100% success record and all without causing too big an international incident.

The MI5 boss had slowly come around to Napoleon, despite never meeting the man ( _"_ _covers must be maintained Eva; an American spy knowing who exactly I am is asking too much of the agency"_ ) and upon their return from Paris, a small potted plant sat next to an embossed photo album containing photographs of their wedding that they could only have dreamt of; she's yet to ask how he managed to clear the use of high level security clearance gadgets for their wedding and to be honest…she didn't want to know; the simple fact that he, the man that had taught her so much, had been there was enough.

And so, with the promise of making contact once they were settled, he had waved her off to another continent.

* * *

Truth be told, Napoleon was glad be back in semi-sunshine after the almost constant dreariness of London. Don't mistake him; the capital was absolutely beautiful and the rainy days had provided many an excuse to wander around galleries and museums but it was the days when the grass was crisp and the air dry that he remembered with most fondness.

But this, he noted as the cab driver unloaded their bags, this was home. Not only were they back in America, but they were in the unofficial second capital; NYC.

He watched with glee as Eva frowned up at the looming Brownstone in front of them and knew she was waiting for him to speak first. He remained silent though and with a nod to the driver; their two small bags that contained only the things they could not live without, were whisked up and into the building; deposited in the foyer before the driver sped away.

"Napoleon…" He let his grin bloom as she turned to him.

"Yes dear?" She scowled at the tone he was using.

"Why are we in the suburbs when the CIA themselves sent us the address of an apartment block?"

"Well…" He trailed off, shoving his hands into his pockets and relishing in the sun's rays warming his face. "…it was such a dreary part of town." He drawled, his smile growing at his wife's huff. "And we deserve so much better."

"We've been here…" She checked her watch. "…two hours, Napoleon." She frowned at him. "Two hours and you've already irritated them."

He simply shrugged, removing his hands from his pockets and taking her hand.

"I'm tired of apartments." He told her. "The people are lovely and a view from a high floor is an obvious plus-"

"But?"

"But I want a home, Eves." He told her, squeezing her hand and nodding up to the building. "I want stairs and a loft…my own front door…" He trailed off again. "And I want it with my wife."

He watched as her eyes moved from window to window before finally settling back on him.

"It's ours?"

"All bought and paid for." He told her proudly, choosing not to add the exact source of the money until she'd fully come to love the place.

"Our own home." She mused and he felt himself fall for her all over again as she turned to him fully and grinned. "I love it."

"I love you." He told her earnestly and watched her blush slightly. "Which means that we're going to do this right this time." She frowned at his words but soon laughter was bubbling out of her as he scooped her into his arms and her own looped around his neck.

"You're going to carry me over the threshold?" She laughed.

"I would have in London but were both incredibly drunk and lived on the fourth floor; we barely made it up the stairs anyway." He reminded her as she nestled further into his hold, legs swinging from their draped position over his left arm.

"Then lead on." She nodded to the doorway and after pressing a kiss to his beloved wife's cheek, bounded as fast as he could up the stone steps before dramatically stepping over their threshold, setting her down, shutting the door and promptly pressing her back against it; ready to continue with the re-enactment of their wedding night.

* * *

A month later and Eva was impressed by how much they'd achieved; they had made the empty house a home; complete with comfortable sofas and bursting bookshelves and a fully modernised kitchen.

Everything that had been deemed 'unimportant' had been shut away in an unused bedroom and they had been living here in bliss while they awaited word from Langley.

A part of her did miss their old London flat; the small space had been cosy and being only a few steps from everything had been…convenient. The views though, well they were mostly the same and often, if she shut her eyes tight and just listened; she could mistake the sounds from the open windows as those of London.

The house still floored her every time she stepped inside; the sleek floors and high ceilings often had her pinching herself and the fact that there even was a spare room housing nothing but boxes was amazing.

Growing up, she'd lived in a small but comfortable house with her parents, but after losing her father and her mother growing ever distant…space had never been something she'd considered; she was happy to lock herself away in her bedroom and just relax there in that small room.

But here, here they had more than enough space and sometimes she just wanted to shut them away in one room and just be together.

The fact that they now owned so much space was the topic that seemed to be constantly on Napoleon's lips. First, he had boasted about it; clearly proud to have come so far in life but now, now he was being covertly pushy about a certain topic…one that she had tuned out of a long time ago.

"Eves?" She turned her head to him and watched him sigh from his braced position at the breakfast bar. "Eves, you've got to at least talk about this." She mirrored his sigh as she pushed off the counter facing the window currently bathing their kitchen in light and faced him.

"Talk about what?"

"You know what!" He bit out, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

"No, Napoleon, I don't." She told him, crossing her arms defensively as they squared off. "I don't know because you only talk around the subject without ever actually saying anything."

"You know what I mean, Eves…I just don't-"

"Don't know how to word it?" She finished for him. "Maybe try something more specific than constantly mentioning how many bedrooms we have or how safe the sidewalk seems to be." She watched him expectantly.

"Eves…"

"Just say it." She bit out each syllable and a silence fell over them as he pushed off the bar and stared at her.

"Kids."

* * *

In retrospect, running from the house, down the pavement and skidding into a park…had probably not been the best way to respond to that one word.

In fact, Eva told herself as she sat in a quiet corner of the lusciously green space, it probably wasn't a good way to respond to anything.

Usually, they solved any marital problems rationally; she refused to sleep with him and he stalked around for a few days before one of them almost gets shot on mission and then…well then they have I'm-so-angry-but-I-love-you-and-you-almost-died sex, and then they're friends again; the cause of their obviously pointless argument forgotten.

But this, this wasn't something they could get past. She honestly wasn't sure how she felt about the whole…children…thing.

She loved children. She reminded herself as in her peripheral vison she caught sight of a young group of kids playing together. They were adorable and she never wanted to put them down but at the first sight of a tear or the subtle paling of the cheek that signalled vomit and they were back in their parents' arms and she was safe.

Safe.

That's the one thing she kept coming back to. She'd been here an hour and it was the word that she couldn't shake.

They were spies for Christ's sake.

This time last month they were uprooting their entire lives to a new continent because Napoleon had been recalled. The month before they were being shot at while trying to organise said move.

Their lives were filled with danger and uncertainty and every time they entered a fight there was good chance only one of them was going to be coming home.

Adding a third, very needy person to their world was just asking for trouble. She'd had to stem laughter when, twenty minutes ago, she'd first pictured herself in her jumpsuit, gun in hand and a baby on her hip drooling uncontrollably.

It just wasn't practical.

And yet, there was a part of her that did want exactly that. Some nights she woke in cold sweats from dreams where Napoleon walked out of the door and didn't come back leaving her with a house full of children to raise by herself.

Because dammit, she wanted it. A perfect child with his eyes and her hair or her eyes and his hair; she didn't care…they'd be perfect no matter what. She wanted to produce something that was half her and half him and undeniably theirs; tying them together forever in a way that nothing else can.

And then the night terrors come and she's alone; either bleeding out and abandoning her family or losing him. And life without him, now she'd lived it at his side, was unthinkable. Napoleon Solo had changed her from the very moment he handed her a pen in a stuffy meeting room.

The bench squeaked as a body lowered itself onto its ancient wooden slats and she refused to look around, to acknowledge the body that she'd already identified by scent alone.

"Ev-"

"Can you really see us juggling international espionage with hourly feeds and nappy changes?" She asked, still facing the park before them.

"Nappy changes?"

"Diapers, Napoleon." She told him, irately turning to face him. "You know; those things that babies wear?" She sighed as he remained silent; hands tucked neatly into the pockets of the trench coat she still associated with rainy days and rumbling buses. "It just isn't feasible; not with our jobs."

"You-"

"If the next thing out of your mouth is a suggestion for me to give up work; I'd stop now." He closed his mouth and she fell against the back of the bench, slumping slightly and beginning to envy his coat as the crisp air pricked at her bare arms. "My job is as important to me as yours is to you."

"I know."

"And we've only be married a year."

"I know."

"And-"

"I know, Eves." He captured her hands with his and she felt her skin lap at their warmth. "I know and I understand." She relaxed slightly. "I'm not looking to knock you up tomorrow." She forced a laugh at his lovely way of phrasing it. "I just…need to know if it's something you want."

"I want it Napoleon." She told him, eyes downcast and voice barely above a whisper. "I want it so much."

"Then discussion over." He reached out and lifted her chin to force eye contact. "It's not something for tomorrow, or next week or even next year…but at some point, the CIA and MI5 are probably going to retire us and…I'm just looking for something to look forward to."

She was silent as she took it all in. Visions of the drooling hindrance baby began to vanish and instead she saw them slightly older with Napoleon dutifully sitting through tea parties while she searched for a school that would teach their son Rugby not Soccer. She saw it and she held onto it; tucking it away in a mental file marked 'later'.

Retirement plans were common talk amongst spies; most involved beaches and women, but then again, most spies were single men. Having something different, and knowing that Napoleon wanted it too…

She was pulling him into a kiss within seconds and melted as his hands wrapped around the waist and pulled her along the bench until they were side-by-side and utterly oblivious to the world around them.

"Besides…" he began, pulling away from her slightly and shrugging out of his coat. "…I'm far too young and lively to be a father." She laughed at the unspoken promise in his eyes as he placed the coat around her shoulders: nothing until we're ready.


	10. Chapter 10

**New York City; 1961**

She was on her own in the brownstone hobbling around its hardwood and marble floors and hoping to god she didn't slip; she couldn't take another bruise on her already purple ribs and Napoleon would have a fit if her found her slumped against a door frame again.

So she didn't take enforced bed rest well? Sue her.

Her beloved husband was no better when the agency forced him to take two days recovery but she was supposed to just lie around for a month? Unlikely. They'd had many 'discussions' about the fact that she refused to stay in bed all day and so far she as doing quite well at sneaking back just as his key slides into the lock on their front door – he seemed happier when he found her under covers instead of slumped on the floor.

Through she did understand his worry slightly, apparently she'd been in a right state by the time he'd managed to rescue her from the hands of a former Nazi butcherer. Honestly? She didn't remember much about it.

The CIA were, apparently, still trying to figure out how a wanted Nazi had managed to get into the U.S. never mind free to wander the streets of New York. She'd spotted him completely by accident one afternoon and soon she and Napoleon were tracking him down. They hadn't planned on splitting up but one thing led to another and then he was on the other side of a compound and she as being knocked out and stuffed into the back of a car.

Of course she remembered being dragged into the dark and dingy room and then there was the usual beating which likely resulted in the black eye she'd sported up until a few days ago but…well…she'd passed out pretty soon after that and to be frank, she was slightly ashamed of how long she'd been able to maintain consciousness.

Napoleon had found her 28 hours later with a full CIA team at his back and hadn't really spoken about it since.

The only reason she knew how many ribs had been broken was due to a sneaky peek at the mission file when Napoleon had been fast asleep one night. She'd curled up with a steaming mug of tea and spent the whole night reading through it. The list of her injuries still didn't seem quite real though she could feel each and every one with every step.

The mere thought of Napoleon finding her strung up by her wrists and by the sounds of it, completely unrecognisable made her want to vomit.

Walking was still a chore and she was grateful for the amount of furniture they owned that she could hold onto while dragging herself around but not being able to smile was the worst; her lip was still bust and the bruise adorning her jaw was so tender she couldn't sleep on her left side.

There was one good thing to come of this though; the CIA were happy to keep Napoleon here, in New York, until she was fit for duty again which meant they were spending more time together doing normal, domestic things than ever before.

She had to admit though, being forced to stay at home was giving her a taste for life outside of their jobs. Napoleon was doing a stellar job of providing a never-ending stream of mouth-watering meals and she knew the pounds would start to pile on soon, but, for the first time in God knows how many years, she wasn't calculating how many hours of running she'd have to undertake to shift it all, no, she was trying to get used to the idea of a fuller figure.

Curves had always been a part of her, but maybe their conversation all those months ago about waiting for the future was redundant. Maybe the future was now?

If she was going to be spending time here, why not have some company? Every glance in a reflective surface was a reminder of how dangerous her job was and with the CIA being seemingly understanding about keeping Napoleon close…

The thought was interrupted by the gentle ring of the doorbell. Frowning down the hall, she forced herself from the kitchen stool and her newspaper and painstakingly made her way to the front door.

"Whatever you're selling…" She began as she opened the door into the small entranceway and glass exterior door. "…I'm not interst-" She cut herself off as she finally paid attention to who was standing on the other side of the glass. "Waverly?"

"Hello, dear." She peered at him for a beat before hurriedly opening the door and welcoming him in. "Thank you." He smiled at her as she took his coat and hung it amongst their own on the porch's hooks.

"Waverly." She breathed his name again before pulling him into a hug and trying not to wince at the contact. "It's so good to see you."

"I'd say the same, dear." He replied as they separated. "But with those bruises and the tenderness in your ribs…I can't say you're looking as healthy as when we last met."

"I trust you read the report?" She asked, gesturing for him to follow her into the bright kitchen.

"And got the next flight out." He told her, taking her seat at the breakfast bar and glancing at the copy of _The Times_ lying open on the worktop. "A taste of home?" He asked, nodding to the inky sheets.

"A comfort when one is under house arrest." She laughed, filling the kettle and setting it to heat before turning back to face him. "What are you doing here, Waverly?" She asked as his features changed ever so slightly into a far more pensive mask. "You hate America."

"Hate is a very strong word, dear Eva." He told her with a tight smile. "But, well I suppose you wouldn't be such a highly valued Agent if you weren't always sceptical." He sighed and closed the newspaper. "I need you back in London."

"We've only been here for seven months." She reminded him with a frown. "And I can't say I'm missing November in the rain." She turned to retrieved two mugs from the cupboard. "You're asking us to pack up our lives again so soon?"

"I'm afraid it's not up for discussion." Her shoulders slumped at his words and she set the mugs on the side. "And Mr Solo will not be required to join you."

"What are you saying?" She asked, her back still to him.

"I'm afraid that in light of recent events, our…partnership with the Americans must come to an end."

"What? Why?" She could feel her heartbeat quicken at his words. "You're the one who wanted a 'partnership' with the Americans!" She reminded him. "You've pushed for this; a collaboration between both sides of the Atlantic, for years!"

"I didn't ask you to marry him though, did I?"

"Waverly I-" She stopped as the electric kettle gurgled and knowing that he wouldn't be moved on this, focused instead on pouring the boiling water into the mugs.

"Of course you have to stay until you are fully recovered." He added as she set a mug down in front of him with a thud. "But then…" He trailed off as she gripped her own mug and stood as far from him as possible as she tried to digest the news. "Eva…you have to know I wouldn't do this unless I have to."

"When do I leave?" She asked, her voice dead as all plans for the future disintegrated before her eyes.

"A month." She nodded slowly. "Eva, I tried to stop this but…"

"I understand."

"You do?" He sounded surprised.

"Of course." She placed her mug beside her. "It's my job."

"Well yes but…"

"Does Napoleon know?" He shook his head. "The CIA?" He nodded once. "Of course...I take it it's up to me to break the news then?"

"We feel it would be better coming from you." She snorted at the idea. "If you would prefer, I can-"

"No." She stared at him. "I'll do it; he's my husband."

"Very well."

* * *

The house was silent as Napoleon returned from another long day at Langley's New York office. Dropping his keys into the small bowl they kept in the hall, he paused to listen out for any sounds of his wife scurrying back to bed after a day not listening to doctors' orders.

The fact that she thought he didn't know was cute and he was happy to let her believe she was fooling him as long as he never found her slumped on the cold floor ever again.

"Eves?" He called out as he stepped onto the staircase and headed for their bedroom. "How are you feeling tod-" His question was left unasked as he pushed open their bedroom door and stopped at the sight of his wife sat on their bed, folding clothes into a suitcase. "Eves?"

"My Commander came by today." She told him, her back still to him as she played with the sweater in her hands. "Wanted to see the war wounds for himself."

He didn't believe her. Not even slightly. It might have been the fact that her boss was not a man who left the comfort of London for a quick check-up or it could be the small matter of his still not knowing who exactly this guy was, but no, it was definitely the fact that she was packing a damned suitcase when she should be pretending to rest.

"What did he say?"

"That I looked awful."

"Sounds like a nice guy." He couldn't believe he was carrying on this nonsense conversation while still frozen in the doorway. "Didn't want to stay for dinner?"

She sighed and let the sweater fall from her hands.

"You know he couldn't."

"I still don't get why his identity is such a mystery." He said, taking a cautious step into the room. "You've met my boss."

"Maybe that isn't a good thing." She said, turning slightly. "Now I know too much about him." He frowned at her words. "I've met his wife, I know his habits; it's a poor show of security on your end."

"Eva…what's going on?"

"I'm leaving." He stalled again at her words. "Wav…I mean the Commander said I had a month but, I think it's better to do this now."

"You're leaving?" He echoed. "Why?"

"Apparently our partnership is over." He unfroze at the break in her voice and was on his knees before her in a heartbeat. "Apparently we can't work together anymore." He reached up to wipe away the tear rolling down her cheek. "Apparently, I have to leave you and…" She let out a sob.

"You're not going anywhere."

"As much as I love the idea of you fighting MI5 singlehandedly..." She gave him a watery smile. "…it's not going to happen; I have to go." She stood and moved to their wardrobes. "My flight is in the morning."

"You can't go." He stood, feeling his anger at her apparent lack of care.

"I have to."

"Dammit Eva; you're my wife!" He shocked himself by the ferociousness of his shout. "Do you really think I'm going to let you move to the other side of the world?!"

"Let me?" Her voice, by contrast, was very low as she stared into their wardrobes. "Let me?" She repeated, turning to him. "I didn't realise I needed your **permission** to do my damned job!"

"We're married!"

"I don't remember signing away my free will when I signed the marriage certificate!" She snarled and he met her glare. "My job comes first." She told him lowly. "Just like yours comes first to you."

"My god!" He cried. "Are you hearing yourself?! We've spent the last how many years trying to be together and now you're just going to run home to England?"

"Yes, I am." He took a step back at her venomous tone as she rounded on him, all thoughts of packing clearly forgotten. "Because a long time ago I pledged my life to my country and I can't believe I let myself forget about it for…for…"

"For us." He finished for her. "We both forgot."

"Don't kid yourself." She sneered. "If you hadn't been caught you wouldn't be here; your loyalty to your country extends only until your sentence is commuted."

Silence fell between them as her words hung in the air; suffocating them.

"I can't believe you still think so little of me." He whispered, as her words hit every target and let him feeling bereft even though she was only arm's length away.

"Nap-" He held his hand up to stop her from continuing.

"Don't." He walked from the room. "Don't waste your breath."

* * *

She'd tossed and turned for the past two hours but no matter what she did, her eyes were either on her case; stuffed into the corner of the room, or were squeezed shut to block out all recollections of their fight.

She knew he was still awake too; the faint light from the living room was spilling onto the upstairs landing and she could occasionally hear him moving around.

Where those words of hatred had come from, she didn't know; it wasn't at all how she felt and she wanted nothing more than to rewind and handle the conversation properly. She kept telling herself that it was his fault; that he'd come home early and hadn't given her enough time to figure out how to approach the subject.

But she knew it was all lies. It was her fault and hers alone.

Sliding from beneath the covers with a sigh, she grabbed her robe as she left the room and padded down the staircase.

He was staring straight ahead at their unlit fireplace and from her spot behind the sofa, she could just make out a glass of whiskey in one hand and while the other was balled into a fist. She stepped further into the room and watched him as she leant against the squared archway.

"You should get some sleep." He lifted the glass to his lips as she spoke. "You have work tomorrow."

"I'm taking the day."

"Being hungover isn't a good enough reason to call in sick."

"I'm not." He leant forward and placed the glass onto the coffee table as his other hand clenched and unclenched in a rhythmic pattern – as though he were trying to work out at least some of the tension in the house. "I've had it booked for a week." She frowned at this and stepped around the sofa and into his line of vision. "Was planning on getting you out of this house and spending some time together." He scoffed at the notion and his hand finally lay flat on the arm of the sofa. "Guess I'll just catch up on my sleep now."

"Napoleon." She sighed, his name a heartbroken whisper on her lips. "Napoleon I'm so sorry."

"I know." He admitted as she fell onto the other end of the sofa. "But it still hurt."

"I'm such a fool!" She whined, her head falling into her hands. "I guess I just thought it would be easier if we parted-"

"On sour terms?" He finished for her, turning his head to her. "So we couldn't miss each other?"

"It sounds stupid when you say it in that voice."

"It is stupid." He insisted and she felt his hands on her wrists, pulling them from her face. "But I get it."

"You do?"

"If it were anyone else in any other line of work…" He trailed off with a half-smile. "I guess it was too good to be true." He sighed, looking around at the house. "Come here." A gentle tug on her wrist had her clambering from her seat and into his lap; the position so familiar and comforting she was instantly relaxed.

"I'm sor-"

"I know."

"No…" She looked up at him. "…not just about that but…" She reached into her pocket and pressed the small card box from which she took a pill every morning, onto his chest. "…I'm sorry we never got to try." He picked up the box from its place against his chest and stared at it.

"You were-"

"Yeah." She let her head fall back against his chest. "I was."

His hand moved steadily up-and-down the satin back of her robe as they fell into a comfortable silence; so different to the one that had consumed them earlier. The box had been placed on the arm of the sofa behind her, though she was acutely aware that his eyes were still on it as his hand brushed it on each downward rub.

"Have you taken todays'?"

"Hmm?" She peered up at him. "No." The box landed in her lap with a gentle thud.

"Take it."

"What are you-"

"I'm not saying goodbye to you with a chaste kiss on the doorstep." He told her as she opened the box with an eye-roll. "Not until you're exhausted enough to sleep all the way to London."

"You're incorrigible."

"You love it."

"Yes…" She lifted her head to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "…I do."


	11. Chapter 11

** New York International Airport; 1961 **

_My Dearest Napoleon,_

_I'm writing this from the departures lounge and though I left you only ten minutes ago, I am consumed with misery at our separation. It's stupid – I always swore I'd never be one of those women who cry at the mere thought of their husband leaving and yet here I am; very teary and eliciting a few strange looks from my fellow passengers._

_On a happier note; I've been bumped to first class though the wry smile on the flight attendant's lips as she told me leads me to suspect that you had something to do with it. Thank you._

_I spoke to my Commander on a pay-phone and I'm pleased to report that I might just be back in the U.S. in a matter of weeks on assignment – perhaps a covert meeting should be arranged?_

_I'm trying to force positives into this letter Napoleon but I'm failing miserably and all I can think about is how much I hate this._

_I have to rush; my gate has just been called but I hope this reaches you soon as I can't bear to be denied to opportunity to tell you how much_ _I love you_ _for any longer._

_Yours Forever,  
Eva_

* * *

**New York City; 1961**

_Eva,_

_The house feels strange without you; it's too quiet and the neighbours keep asking when my 'lovely wife' will be home. I haven't the heart to tell them the truth so if you do return and they ask about an obscure trip home for long-lost family…just play along._

_I'm not sure what else to write – you know this whole 'feelings' thing isn't in my skill set so I'll just leave it at: I miss you, I love you and I hope we can speak soon._

_Yours,  
Napoleon_

* * *

**MI5 Headquarters, London; 1961**

_Napoleon,_

_They won't let me speak to you._ ~~_Wave_~~ _The Commander says that we can't risk it; you don't know who's listening in. the problem is, I know exactly who's likely to be listening and it's either the creepy guy on my end or one of the Agents Langley keeps in the basement on yours._

_So, this is the only way we can communicate until the ban is lifted. Everything is getting really tense here and I'm hearing whispers of assignments coming up – here's hoping for one on your side of the Atlantic._

_The apartment they've put me up in is even smaller than the one we left and I'm in a block of all women – for my 'safety' apparently._

_I'll admit; it is quite nice to hear my own accent again. Sometimes New York could be so lonely when you're the only Brit on the block._

_Apart from that, London does seem to have lost its shine a little now I'm trudging around on my own but as The Commander says; keep your head high and hold onto that Blighty spirit. It's getting easier now that Christmas decorations seem to be popping up all over the place and I'm keeping my fingers crossed for a white Christmas despite the fact I know it'll be a slushy one._

_I have to go; I'm writing this at my desk and I'm starting to get a few looks; I don't think my assistant can hold my appointment back any longer._

_I love you,  
Eva_

* * *

**Berlin; 1962**

_Eva,_

_By the sound of things, you've come a long way from request forms and giving directions to visiting soldiers. I'm so proud of you. And a little envious; the prospect of an office and assistant sounds rather enticing right about now._

_I hope you get sent back to the U.S.; it needs more people like you but unfortunately, I won't be there if you do. I can't tell you exactly where I am except that I'm in a halfway decent hotel except for the curtains which are incredibly horrible and appear to be made of some kind of metal…get it?_

_Thank you for the Christmas gift; I'm not entirely sure how you managed to send it over, what with all the tightened security on both our sides, but I'm grateful none the less._

_Stay safe._

_I love you,  
Napoleon._

* * *

**The Kitchen Table, New York City; 1962**

_It's weird being here when you're not. I stayed for as long as could but my Commander was starting to get suspicious over how long this simple assignment was taking._

_I'd hoped we bump into each other but your assignment seems to have been extended; I waited for you at the airport but the flight emptied and you weren't there. I hope you're okay._

_Things are getting tense again; something's brewing and I wish I could talk to you about it but you probably know as much as me._

_I love the new bookcases and the walk-in-wardrobes look amazing; you've clearly spent too much money but who am I to criticise such lovely gifts; I'm only sorry I couldn't be here to see them for Christmas as you intended._

_I have to keep this brief; I'm using the back of some junk mail and there's a taxi waiting outside._

_Happy Anniversary my love._

* * *

**Tokyo, Japan; 1962**

_Happy Birthday my darling._

_I can't stop thinking about you lately and all the milestones we're missing. I got your note from the house during one of my two-day stopovers a few days ago and it's obviously been sitting there for a while._

_I'm sorry I wasn't at the airport; things got complicated and I had to stay._

_I'm not sure how much longer we can keep using the agencies to pass along these unstamped, location-less letters; the bosses are also getting angsty on my end and I think things are about to get a lot tighter._

_I love you,  
Napoleon_

* * *

**Moscow, Russia; 1962**

_Napoleon,_

_We got word of an American Agent who was ambushed in Argentina a few days ago. Please der God tell me it wasn't you. I can't get anything out of the girls on the CIA switchboard and they keep putting me through to random people in admin._

_Tell me you're okay or I'll be on the next flight out; international politics be dammed._

_Eva_

* * *

**New York City; 1962**

_Eva,_

_I'm fine._

_Do you see that: I'm fine. Don't lose your job over this; I'M FINE._

_It was one of ours but not me and he's recovering well. I'm back home for now; everyone seems a little spooked by how easily his cover was blown and I've been summoned to Virginia for countless meetings on the subject in the last week alone._

_I can't say much else and I think the car that's just pulled up outside is for me._

_I don't know when I'll next be able to contact you; things are heating up around here and I doubt I'll be in the country for much longer. If things are so serious on both sides, what are the chances of bumping into each other on top-secret missions?_

_Stay safe in this un-predictable world._

_Napoleon_

* * *

**London; 1962**

_Napoleon,_

_Tell the CIA to answer my calls regarding the safety of my husband or I will be on the next flight over and in a meeting with Mr John McCone himself._

_I'm glad you're safe; I don't know what I'd do without you and these letters are my only comfort._

_I too am back on home soil (for the next few days anyway) and preparing for a big one. Like you; I don't know when I'll next be able to make contact but know that you are always in my thoughts._

_I love you; you are the best thing that ever happened to me._

_Yours Forever,  
Eva Solo_

* * *

**New York City; 1962**

_Eva,_

_That last letter seemed a little too much like a goodbye. How deep is your assignment? Will you be safe?_

_I know you can't contact me but just get someone to keep me updated, please?_

_You are the best thing to ever happen to me too. I'm twice the man because of you._

_I love you._

_Napoleon._

* * *

**New York City; 1962**

_Eva,_

_It's been weeks since I sent my last letter and I've heard nothing. I know this is all part of the job but I cant help but be worried._

_Are you safe?_

_As you said to me a few months ago: tell me you're okay or I'll be on the next flight out; international politics be dammed._

_Napoleon._

* * *

**New York City; 1962**

_Eva,_

_I was in London last week and there's no trace of you._

_I love you,  
Napoleon_

* * *

**New York City; 1962**

_Eva,_

_I saw you and I know you saw me._

_I don't know who that man was but I get the feeling you're in too deep; I know that look in your eyes – I saw it when I cut you down from a Nazi Butchering Rack last year._

_The stiffening of your back when I called your name told me everything; you're not safe and I told MI5 that when I called them. If they're smart they'll pull you out before something goes wrong._

_Stay safe._

_Napoleon_


	12. Chapter 12

** Checkpoint Charlie, West Berlin, Germany; 1962  **

The powder blue MGA Mark II was unquestionably the perfect car for a sunny day in West Berlin. Headscarf in place and with an engine revving excitedly, she was thoroughly enjoying being free of the undercover operation that had consumed her every thought for the past two months and basking in the flirty grins of the American soldiers guarding the Checkpoint.

Papers back in hand she was waved through with a wink and the tiny sports car rumbled through the barrier with ease.

That was the easy part. It was the small brown shed coming up on her left that would be the source of any problems she was to encounter. The small stretch of road separating the checkpoints between East and West was the safest part of the city and, ignoring the watchtowers and barbed wire on both sides, the nicest too.

There were soldiers watching her drive from both sides and while the GI's from the immaculately painted checkpoint were watching for safety reasons, the stone faced men she was approaching were watching for much less friendly reasons.

She pulled up to the checkpoint with a smile and opened her mouth to greet them with her best hello, only to be cut off with a sharp order.

"Out of the car." The clipped accent and sharp stare had her closing her mouth and following the order without protest.

The soft click of her heels on the concrete as she extended her legs out was the best form of identification she could have brought; the image of a woman who clearly no qualms about showing off her curves in a figure hugging navy dress, would be the best way to get her cover as a modern American woman verified as she crossed over to East Berlin.

Following the soldier to the small hut she smiled as they scrutinised her papers and tried to ignore the men opening her trunk and sifting through its meagre contents. Obviously, she knew this would happen; smuggling things in and out of the opposing sides of Berlin would get her imprisoned faster than she could say the word 'spy' and so all she was carrying was an overnight bag – which they were now poking through.

"All good?" She asked as the trunk slammed shut and her papers were handed back to her.

"You may proceed." She flashed the soldiers another smile before collecting her identification papers and tottering back to the car.

Slipping her sunglasses back on she waited for the barrier to lift just enough for the low car before she stamped her foot down and sped off towards her target.

* * *

** East Berlin, Germany; 1962  **

She'd driven around aimlessly for a good while before pulling up in front of the hotel she'd be staying at.

Dropping her bag in her room she retrieved the palm-sized box labelled 'personal things' (even soldiers were too afraid to look in that) and flicked open the lid to reveal a customised cassette player with tape.

Placing it on the bed-side-table she gingerly lifted the Russian made listening device/tracker from its place just inside the bag's lining and placed it next to the tin.

Giving herself a once-over in the mirror of the tiny room; she smiled, pressed play and left the room with her Russian counterparts happily listening to a pre-recorded night-time routine.

Slipping through the fire exit at the end of the hallway, she tiptoed down the rusting fire escape and towards the only car behind the hotel.

The powder blue car had been expertly covered in the stick-on panels that she'd hidden in the trunk's secret compartment and she thanked East Berlin's generous amount of dark, seedy alleyways that had allowed her to cover up the car's identity a handful of hours after passing through the checkpoint.

She retrieved the hand-drawn map from her glove-compartment and with a quick glance at its directions, she was back speeding through the now dark streets.

* * *

_PROFI-MECHANIKER GARAGE_

The sign was barely legible as it hung above the run-down mechanics she pulled up outside of and she hesitated before stepping from the car and into the shop.

Only one car filled the space and judging by the lack of anybody else in the building; the pair of legs sticking out from under the rusting vehicle belonged to the person she was looking for.

"Mein auto macht seltsame geräusche." She said, coming to rest beside the car and eyeing its open bonnet with little interest. "Sie sagten, du könntest es beheben."

A deep sigh resonated from under the car and Eva knew that the image of her heeled feet coupled with her apparent lack of knowledge on this subject would flush them out.

"Du sprichst gut deutsch, für einen Amerikaner." Eva laughed as the person wheeled themselves out and into the dim light of the store.

"And an even better American accent for a Brit." She replied, letting her façade drop and holding out a hand for the woman.

She ignored it and got to her feet herself; wiping her hands on an oily rag as she went.

"Show me the car." Eva raised an eyebrow at the woman before turning and pointing the MGA. The female mechanic let out a whistle as she saw it and looked to Eva for permission to approach. With a nod, the spy watched as she practically ran to the motor and began inspecting every inch of it.

"You don't get many like this on this side?" She asked, knowing the answer already as the mechanic squatted to peer underneath.

"We don't get any." She replied. "So what's the problem?"

"Well…" She sighed, moving to stand next to her as they started at the car. "…There's a rattling when I make corners, the steering feels strange and MI5 has no valuable operatives in East Berlin."

"I'm sorry?" Eva turned to her as the mechanic took a step back.

"I said the steering feels strange."

"Not that." The mechanic, whispered furiously as her eyes darted around. "The other thing."

"Oh." Eva laughed and straightened the navy jacket that matched her dress. "The bit about MI5?" The mechanic nodded. "You had to know this was coming."

"Know what was coming?"

"Gabriella Teller; my name is Agent Eva Green with MI5 and I'm here to recruit you into Her Majesty's Service."


	13. Chapter 13

** Vinciguerra Island, 1963 **

"She's my wife, Peril."

It was quite funny actually; how the Russian's eyes almost bulged from their sockets as his head whipped between the two agents.

"You're married?" It was Gabby who broke the silence that had fallen over the small group as she frowned at Eva. "You didn't say."

"Announcing that you're MI5 is dangerous enough in the middle of East Berlin, adding that you're married to an American CIA Agent?" She gestured to Napoleon. "Russian interrogation isn't something I'm particularly keen to experience." She shot Kuryakin a look as the burly man seemed to compose himself. "No offence."

"None taken."

"Yes...well…" Waverly glanced around the group as the subject of marriage seemed to drop. "…Like I said, excellent work everyone." He shot them all a grin before moving away to speak to the soldier in charge of inspecting the retrieved missile.

His departure was a silent 'at ease' and Eva watched as the three operatives relaxed. The brief report Waverly had had her read on her way over had mentioned that despite opposing backgrounds, allegiances and methods; the three had formed a tentative bond with poor Gabriella posing as Kuryakin's fiancée and Napoleon and the Russian frequently choosing to save each other's lives instead of leaving them for dead.

It definitely hadn't been the expected outcome when they'd been thrown together, but, Eva recalled from past experience that sometimes, it was the unexpected partnerships that yielded the best results.

With that in mind she turned to the only person on this scrap of land at the edge of the island that she could truly call her partner. She could still hear him calling her name from one end of a departure lounge even a year on. She'd wanted to run to him, to hold him and make sure he was alright but her cover demanded she ignore him, look straight ahead and play loving girlfriend to the brute she was accompanying whilst undercover.

They hadn't actually spoken in two years and until five minutes ago, she'd craved his voice. The surprise in it and the rest of his features when she'd descended from the helicopter was promptly replaced with something so stoic she found herself flinching. Though they'd parted on good terms, it was clear that all was not 'alright' between them and how could it be?

They'd been separated for half of their marriage with no word on how the other was. There was a period when she'd believed him dead and that was when the distance between them had really hit her. So, it was now, with him finally a matter of footsteps away from her that she had to do something; they were either going to save this or end this and she couldn't spend another two years flying across the globe and always just missing each other without knowing.

"Napol-"

"Agent Green, could you come here for a moment?" She let out a laugh of disbelief as Waverly cut across her – the man was stopping her from even saying his name now.

She shot Napoleon an apologetic look, noting that he had at least turned to her when she called, before stepping towards Waverly and the missile nestled into the islands grass.

"Commander?"

"Take a look at this weapon and tell me what's wrong with it." She frowned at his request before squatting in front of the missile and peering into it.

"I can't see anything." She said as her frown deepened.

"Neither can our men." He told her. "Fancy a challenge?" He offered with a grin and she rolled her shoulders before calling out for a screwdriver, a Geiger counter and a competent assistant.

* * *

"What's she doing?" Napoleon asked as Waverly re-joined the rag-tag group of operatives. "That's a live nuclear missile."

"I'm aware of that, Agent Solo, and that's why our Advanced Weapons Specialist is poking around inside it and not me." He said with a smile and Napoleon resisted the urge to march past him and pull her away from the thing that could explode and kill them all with one wrong move.

It hadn't taken a lot for him to figure out exactly who this man was. If his revealed association to MI5 wasn't enough, hearing his wife call this seemingly harmless man 'Commander' confirmed it all – this was the man responsible for taking her away from him.

And to think, he had started to like the sarcastic man.

As Peril and Gabby rattled off information about their retrieval of the missile and the goings on of the island he kept his gaze firmly on the blonde a hundred yards away from him.

She looked good.

Though he didn't expect less – in two years nothing had physically changed with him either but there were a lot more scars on his psyche that he'd be willing to let on about and he was guessing it was the same with her. After all, the ex-convict and the woman were always the ones people were hoping would slip-up or show weakness, it would be the perfect excuse to get rid of them but while the CIA's stance on him was still unclear after all this time, he could see that Eva was safe as long as this mysterious Waverly was keeping an eye on her.

He recalled how she'd been recruited and was slightly comforted that if this man had been watching her back since day one, he was unlikely to let her get hurt now.

He wasn't the only one who jumped when she unexpectedly stood and kicked the missile. His arms instantly moved to cover himself, as did most of the soldiers on this island, Kuryakin included as he tried to shield Gabby, but all arms fell when after a solid minute…nothing happened.

"Eva?" Waverly called out from beside him and he noted how he was probably the only one who hadn't moved to protect himself from an oncoming blast.

"Just confirming something!" She shouted back as she crouched again and began digging around inside the cylindrical case.

"If this were Russia…" Peril began as he finally released Gabby and caught Napoleon's eye. "…she'd have been shot for that."

He didn't add that the CIA would have likely shot too.

For the entire time he'd known this woman she'd either been alone or working with him. To see her with such a large group of Waverly's soldiers and not a single one reach for their guns when she attacked a live weapon…it was more than admirable.

She'd dropped subtle clues through her letters when she'd first returned home so he knew she'd been promoted and was finally receiving the recognition she deserved, but this was new; utter compliance from the soldiers, Advanced Weapons Specialist and a confidence that had been a mere spark when they first met compared to the inferno of it now.

He wondered if Eva Solo was still there, judging by the fact that Gabby knew her as Agent Green…he doubted it.

"Problem solved?" Waverly asked as the woman in question strode through the boggy grass and towards them.

"Very much so." She told him as she turned and addressed the three operatives. "Not to dismiss the fine work you did here…" She sighed. "…but there's a snag."

He watched Peril lean forward, expecting a critique of his work and Napoleon knew that the Russian wouldn't take it very well if this small blonde rubbished him.

"Wrong warhead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. So I've pretty much written this whole story now and just to let you know it's about 16 chapters in total; I'm just working on the last one and then I'll publish them all within a few days of each other.
> 
> Hope you're all still enjoying; let me know in the comments <3


	14. Chapter 14

** Military Helicopter en route from Vinciguerra Island, 1963 **

"So it's a decoy?" Napoleon asked as they all stared down at the missile strapped to the large helicopter's floor between them.

"Oh no." She laughed, leaning back in her seat. "It's a real bomb; nasty one too." She told them as Kuryakin glared down at it. "But it's not nuclearized."

"There's no uranium it." Waverly explained from his seat on the bench next to her as Napoleon, Kuryakin and Gabby sat opposite them.

"There was a second warhead in the lab." Gabby told them, shouting over the sound of the propellers, and Eva's head snapped up to meet her eyes.

"A second bomb?" She asked.

"There were two." Gabby confirmed and Eva let out a groan as Waverly was out of his seat like a shot and directing the pilot to land on the deck of HMS Ark Royal immediately.

"Then this just got a hell of a lot more complicated."

* * *

** HMS Ark Royal, 1963 **

The helicopter had barely touched down on the deck of the HMS Ark Royal before Waverly was striding across it to the man dressed all in white waiting for them at the deck entrance.

"Did you check everything I asked, Captain?" Eva heard him say as she ushered the three very muddy operatives to follow as a group of men strode forward waiting to retrieve the warhead.

"Radar, sonar and aerial support all confirm that no other vehicle has left the island since last night, including submarines." The Captain informed them.

"Status of the missile, ma'am?" Eva turned from the group now striding towards the entrance to the belly of the ship and faced the soldier.

"Definitely a nasty one but no uranium so we should be safe." She told them as two moved forward to claim the missile. "Though I have had a bit of a prod around inside so if it seems particularly angry…" She paused as it was jostled around before sliding comfortably into the waiting arms of the men. "…it's entirely my fault and you need to dump it over the side immediately." She flashed the commander a grin.

"We'll bare that in mind ma'am." She rolled her eyes at the stoicism of the man and promptly turned away from the now silent helicopter and headed for the direction Waverly had disappeared in.

She entered the bridge just as a scruffy-looking man began to address the assembled people.

"The boats go out every morning at dawn." He told them as she joined the large table completely covered with maps and shipping routes of the mainland's small boats.

"I saw them." Illya spoke up. "How many of them are there?"

"Fishing boats?" The man asked, scratching his head as he eyed the maps. "Almost a hundred." He gestured to a smaller map with a circle inked onto Italy's coat. "They are spread out over a 60-kilometer radius by now."

"And that radius is expanding every minute." The Captain sighed. "We don't even know what boat we're looking for." He added before turning to Eva. "Is the warhead secured or is my ship going to explode, Agent Green?"

"It's safe and sound in the hold, Captain." She told him, frowning lightly when Napoleon seemed to jolt before snatching the ship register from the table and flicking through it wildly. "Along with the prisoners from the island." She watched as Napoleon stopped at one of the last pages on the register and began to scour it more intently. "When does the submarine surface?"

"0800 hours." The Captain told her. "That gives us 20 minutes."

"Do we have a rough location?"

"If by rough you mean we know it'll surface in the Mediterranean, then yes." Waverly sighed, shedding his jacket as he stared at the maps.

"Good enough for me; give me command of five men and a motorboat and-"

"Diadema." Napoleon cut across her as he stabbed a finger at the register. "That's Sergio Vinciguerra's old fishing boat; I suggest we start there." He looked up from the register and turned to the scruffy man. "Can you get them on the radio?"

"I'm the Harbour Master – I can get anyone on the radio."

"Excellent!" Waverly exclaimed. "And we can get a bearing from the radio signal, yes?" He asked the Captain.

"If we keep them broadcasting for long enough."

"Pick your team and get into position…" Waverly turned to Eva. "…once we have a bearing you're in charge of getting there before the hand-over."

She nodded once to her Commander before turning to a loitering sailor.

"I need-"

"I have an idea which might make things quicker." Gabby interrupted. "Sorry…" She shot her an apologetic smile. "…but there's a coupling device in each missile." She told the room as Eva felt a grin blossom on her lips. "Do you think you could…?" She trailed off as Eva let out a small laugh.

"Use it against its sibling?" Eva asked. "I most certainly can."

* * *

"Diadema, venite in Diadema. Questo è il padrone del porto."

Napoleon was silent as the Harbour Master attempted to contact the fishing boat from the Ark Royal's bridge. Eva had disappeared only moments ago with Gabby and Illya hot on her heels as she led them down to the hold where the missile and a group scientists hired by the Vinciguerra's were being kept.

He was still in shock at the fact they were on the same ship, let alone the same county. But two years was a long time and adding in the fact that they were yet to exchange more than two words with each other; it was almost as if they'd never actually met.

He wasn't sure who this woman was; before she'd been a mere foot soldier like him but now, now she knew so much more and had probably done so much more and he was left feeling a little…inadequate in her heeled shadow.

Of course, he'd noticed how Gabby seemed at ease with her and he wondered exactly how far back that friendship went and if Gabby liked her then it wouldn't be long before Illya warmed to her too. And then it would just be him; the man who fell into this life by chance and who had been torn away from perhaps the only person who had seen him as more than a list of crimes.

"Diadema, venite in Diadema. Questo è il padrone del porto." The Harbour Master continued, the captain clearly becoming impatient as no reply filtered through from the small boat and he wondered if perhaps Eva had been right about sending out a boat and not wasting time with this.

"Maestro de porto, questo è Diadema."

They all perked up at the reply from the fishing boat's captain and with a nod the Harbour Master gave the agreed reply.

"Sì Diadema, ho un messaggio per Victoria Vinciguerra."

"Non so di cosa stai parlando."

Napoleon could feel the entire bridge roll their eyes at the Captains denial of knowing who they spoke of.

"Ten minutes and counting." The Captain helpfully told them and Napoleon could feel his fists curl at the thought of Victoria Vinciguerra getting away with this.

"Mr Solo." Waverly turned to him. "I think this may be your cue."

He nodded to the man before retrieving the radio handset from the Harbour Master and with a deep breath, addressed the fishing boat.

"Hello, Victoria." He began, turning to stare out into the open waters ahead. "I suspect that you're already listening so I'll give you this message directly: earlier today I killed your husband."

He paused, waiting for a response from the woman.

"We're wasting our time; this isn't working." The Captain bit out as time ticked down on the clock behind him.

"If you could just shut up, thank you very much." He heard Waverly instruct. "Ramp it up, please, Solo."

"I'd like to report that he died honourably, courageously and selflessly. But he didn't." He said. "Instead, it was a rather pitiful affair involving tears, begging and offers to trade anything and, indeed, anyone so that I would spare his life."

"Napoleon." Victoria's voice crackled over the radio as a pair of heels clicked through the bridge and towards the Captain. "I appreciate your message and now I hope you'll appreciate mine: any relation of yours still living will be dead within the year. They will die slowly and painfully. And you know from personal experience, this is an area in which we excel."

"Bearing 0-4-5, Captain." He heard a sailor call out from behind him as Victoria continued to speak.

"There's nothing you'll be able to do but witness their suffering as you await your own death, which I will save for last. This I vow on my husband's soul."

"Locked and loaded, gentlemen." A female voice added behind him. "It's all yours Captain."

"Won't you have to inform your organization to achieve that?" He asked, turning slightly from the window to watch the Captain slip a chain from his neck with a small key dangling from it and insert it into a nearby console.

"After we deliver the warhead you so desperately sought...it will be the first item on my agenda." Victoria told him. "And you will die, Solo, knowing you failed completely. We have the professor's disk: we can build as many bombs as we need."

"Ready?"

"Yes, proceed, please, Captain."

"I see one flaw in that plan." Napoleon said, focusing back on the radio in his hand and not on the blonde currently punching away at buttons. "While you've been telling me how dangerous you are...we've been locking on to your radio signal and now we have your general location."

"It won't help you much. I'll be gone in five minutes."

"I haven't finished." He interrupted, taking a breath and readying himself to launch into his spiel. "The coupling device that you so considerately left us on your decoy warhead is, according to our Weapons Specialist, accurate to 10 feet. That warhead, although not nuclear, shouldn't have any trouble obliterating a medium-size fishing boat. The aforementioned warhead launched..." He paused to check his watch. "45 seconds ago...giving you about 30 seconds until impact. It won't trigger the nuclear warhead as that requires fission. So...if you do want to make good on your vow...I suggest you abandon ship immediately. How's that for entertainment?"

His finger released the transmission button just as a bright yellow cloud of fire boomed in the distance.

"Target obliterated." A voice said from behind him and he turned to flash the British spy a grin as he dropped the radio and let Waverly take his spot to watch the flames from the now wrecked Diadema continue to rise in the distance. "Mission accomplished."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Just a quick chapter before we get to the last installment. Chapter 16 will be the last chapter of this story and I'll probably be posting it on Monday so keep an eye out for it. As always; comments are welcome and deeply loved. Hope you enjoy! xxx

** Grand Plaza Hotel, Rome, 1963 **

The hotel foyer was the picture of opulence with a magnificent chandelier dominating the ceiling of reception. The group of operatives moved slowly, Eva assumed that it was due to the fight gabby had detailed to her between Napoleon, Illya and Alexander Vinciguerra. Apparently, the Russian had won by throwing a motorcycle at the Italian.

"We'll have dinner together." Gabby announced as they all came to a stop in the centre of the huge room; the loitering hotel guests shooting the muddy elements of the group sneers. "Tonight." She added, eyeing everyone individually.

The German was scratched to hell and had grass in her hair and yet nobody seemed to argue with the look in her eye; they were having dinner together then. Wonderful. That wouldn't be awkward at all.

She shot everyone one last look before turning on her heel and striding towards the elevator bank; Illya following closely behind as Waverly slipped off too.

And then it was just the two of them; standing silently in reception, not meeting each other's eyes. She blew out a sigh before turning from him and heading to the desk at the far end of the room where two immaculately uniformed women were watching her.

"What rooms have you got available?" She asked, running fingers through her matted hair.

"Let me check, Signora." The receptionist nearest her offered with a smile as she scanned the guest book in front of her. "I'm afraid we only have-" She stopped as a hand clamped around Eva's arm and pulled her away from the desk lightly.

"Add her to my room." Napoleon bit out as he tugged on her again.

"Certainly, Mr Deveny." The woman said with a bat of her eyelashes. "Under what name?"

"Mrs Deveny." He called over his shoulder as Eva finally gave in and let him pull her towards the elevators.

Honestly, she was a bit smug about the surprised look on the receptionist's face.

* * *

 The ride up to the eighth floor had been… excruciatingly awkward. They'd stood in silence until the doors swept open and Solo led her down the plush hallway to his room.

"This is quite the suite, Mr Deveny." She noted, letting the door close with a soft click behind her as Napoleon moved through the room. "Very nice." She mused, stepping around the sofa to stand in the middle of the suites living area and staring out at the view his terrace offered of Rome. "I-" She was cut off as arms pulled her into a solid chest and lips descended onto her own.

It took her less than a second to register who this was and where they were and how long it had been since their last before her own arms were winding around his neck and his lips reciprocating everything. He'd somehow pulled her closer and now he had one hand splayed across her back, holding her to him; keeping their lips fused until the need to breathe was too much.

Their breathing was laboured as they parted; their eyes scouring every inch of each other's faces as they remained in their embrace.

"Sorry." He shot her a tight smile. "I just…it's been…" He cleared his throat and stepped back from her, forcing her arms to fall to her sides. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too." She dug her hands into the pockets of the long coat she still wore. "How are you?"

"Well." He lifted a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "You?"

"Well." She mirrored, staring down at the stilettos that had been mauled by the marshland of Vinciguerra Island.

They were at a standstill now. They couldn't look at each other and they'd officialy run out of pleasantries. He was still in dirty combat gear; the beret he'd worn to infiltrate the island now stuffed into his back pocket.

"You should clean up." She gestured to the mud. "Shall I call for someone to come look you over? Illya has a nasty cut on his forehead so I bet you've got one somewhere."

"I'm fine." He told her, turning to enter the bedroom of the suite.

"Are you sure?" She asked, following him to lean against the doorframe and watch as he dug into a drawer. "I'm sure that receptionist would be more than happy to-"

"Stop it." His voice was hard as his hands stilled.

"I'm just saying that-"

"I said; stop it." He looked up at her. "I haven't seen you in almost two years and the first thing you do is…"

"Is what?" She asked, pushing off the frame. "Is comment on how many people you've slept with in that time? Forgive me for not being overjoyed at the thought of my husband with other women."

"And you've stayed celibate, I suppose?" He straightened. "You haven't so much as looked at another man?"

"It's my job."

"Mine too." He reminded her. "So why do you get to be pissed but not me?"

"Because I'm jealous Napoleon!" She exclaimed before clapping a hand over her mouth and turning away from him to head back into the living area. He stopped her.

"You're what?" He asked, turning her slowly to face him again.

"You're surprised that I'm jealous?" She asked incredulously. "Really?"

"Surprised that you admitted it." He replied. "You're not big on vulnerability."

"People change."

"You haven't." And he could see now that it was true. She hadn't, not really; her nails were still red and her hair still as soft as silk and he could see the faint outline of a chain under her jumper which he knew would have her wedding ring on the end.

"Neither have you." She could see it too; he was exactly the same. Familiar suits were hung up in the slightly ajar wardrobe and his aftershave was the same and he held her the same; his touch surprisingly soft as she stood between the hands on her upper arms. She'd even spotted the small box he used to store his own wedding ring in when they were on missions.

"I'd like to start this reunion again, if that's alright with you?" She laughed at the small grin he shot her.

"I'd like it too."

His hands slid from her arms and moved under her coat to hold her waist, pulling her a step forward as her hands moved to rest on his chest; his heartbeat just tangible beneath his thick jumper. They were a mere breath apart when he whispered: "Hello."

She responded by gripping the material and pulling him close.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. This is it folks - the very last chapter of the story that was meant to be a one-shot :)
> 
> I just want to say a huge thank you to absolutely everyone who supported this fic; your comments and kudos have meant a lot to this girl desperately trying to cram for her exams.
> 
> As always, a comment would be much appreciated (as this is the final chapter) and I hope you've enjoyed the mis-adventures of Mr&Mrs Agent Solo.
> 
> Love to all of you  
> \- C xxx

 

** Grand Plaza Hotel, Rome, 1963 **

Napoleon wasn't surprised to open the door and find Illya standing stoically on the other side. He'd called down earlier to invite the pair in the room below for drinks before they went for dinner. The absence of Gabby, however, did make him frown slightly.

"Come in." He smiled at the man, holding the door wide. "Just finishing packing." He told him as the Russian closed the door behind him and Napoleon headed back to the open suitcase on his bed. "Fix us a couple of drinks; I think we've earned them."

He most definitely had, he thought to himself as the sound of running water from the bathroom at the other end of the suite continued to fill the space. Needless to say; if Peril had turned up 10 minutes earlier, he'd have found Napoleon in a far less refined state.

"I guess it's business as usual now." He commented as Illya almost silently made his way to the small drinks station. "Back to how things were." And he couldn't be happier about it; he planned to take a long vacation from the CIA, citing injuries from his time spent at Uncle Rudy's hands, and spend some much-needed time with his wife.

He glanced up from the suitcase to find Illya staring intently at him and his pile of clothes waiting to be packed. Napoleon watched the man casually un-screw the lid onto the bottle of whiskey in his hands as the American moved to place more items into his case.

Ironically, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what the Russian had been focused on. Napoleon was well aware that the corner of the tape he'd snatched from the grass on Vinciguerra island could be seen under his shirts.

He could hear Illya pouring whiskey into glasses as he reached under a pair of neatly folded trousers and retrieved a handgun. Choosing to believe the best of the spy not 10 paces behind him, he kept it holstered and continued to pack around it.

"You feeling okay?" He asked, hands constantly brushing the concealed weapon as it lay at the top of his packed clothes.

There was silence behind him and Napoleon let out a tiny sigh as he considered that this whole mission might just end in bloodshed. Illya gave a stiff nod as Napoleon turned to watch him re-screw the lid and gently place it back onto the tray.

He turned back to the case and resignedly slipped the gun from its case and resumed packing, all with one eye on the perfectly positioned shaving mirror at the bedside, giving him a clear view of Illya.

"So what now?" He asked, choosing to let the Russian believe he wasn't onto him. "Mission accomplished; heading back to Russia?"

"Something like this…yes." The Russian bit out as Napoleon watched him silently unzip his jacket and reveal his own holstered weapon. "You?"

"New York." He couldn't keep the grin off his face even as his eyes zeroed in on the gun. "Going to spend some quality time with family." He lifted the gun as he slowly straightened. "Almost forgot…" He started as he slipped another item into his other hand. "…got something for you." He turned abruptly, forcing the Russian to drop his own hand from his gun and catch the item Napoleon had thrown to him.

He kept the gun just out of sight behind his back as Illya turned the item over and over in his hands, a look of disbelief filling his blank features. He took a moment to study the inscription on the back before hastily pushing up his sleeve and fastening the watch to his wrist; his shoulders easing slightly at the comfort of having it back.

"You know what my mission is?" He asked, tearing his eyes away from the watch.

"Same as mine was." Napoleon replied as he pulled the shirt from on top of the poorly hidden tape. "Kill you if necessary…" He used the gun to gesture to the pale blue tape box. "…to get that."

"Professor Teller's research disc."

They were in a silent stand off as Napoleon kept a good grip on is gun, very much prepared to be the one who walks out of this suite even if it meant killing the man who was slowly growing on him.

"Everything okay here, gentlemen?" Both their heads snapped to the new voice in the room and Napoleon watched Illya immediately step away, his hand dropping from his gun as Eva stood in the doorway of the bathroom.

He hadn't heard the water turn off but not for the first time, he was glad of his wife's ability to move silently and appear at the perfect moment. Illya was now staring out onto the terrace as he tried to casually re-zip his jacket and Napoleon was relieved that they'd apparently found a different way to resolve this.

The fact that the Russian was going slightly pink at the sight of his wife in nothing but thigh grazing towel, was an added bonus to the situation.

"Illya was just pouring drinks." He explained, dropping the gun onto the bed and noting how her eyes followed it. Typical spy; she knew exactly what was going on.

"Wonderful idea." She beamed at the Russian as she moved past him. "I'll take mine with ice."

The man gave another stiff nod, clearly grateful to be able to turn his back on them, and reached for the bottle again.

"Perfect timing." Napoleon murmured as she pulled closed the sliding doors to the bedroom, sealing them from him.

"All sorted?" She asked, reaching for the small holdall that had been sent up for her and placing it next to his own.

"I think so." He told her, hands sliding back around her towelled waist as she began to dig through the bag for clothes.

"We have a guest." She reminded him as she smirked against the soft skin at the back of her neck. "Napoleon." She huffed, turning in his arms. "You'll make him blush."

"That's the plan." He mumbled against her neck before placing a kiss there.

"Napol-" She stopped as the shrill ring of the room's phone sliced through the air. She shot him a look before slipping from his hold and picking up the receiver.

"Hello?" She paused as the voice on the other end spoke quickly and concisely. "Yes of course, I'll be right there." She didn't wait for any further conversation and replaced the receiver. "I have to see Waverly."

* * *

"You can't be serious?" The air was thick with tension as she spoke. "You've had me travelling all over the place ever since I left New York; I need some time."

"You're needed on a plane, Agent Solo." Waverly was entirely too relaxed for her liking as he sat, legs crossed, on the sofa; a copy of his favourite British newspaper at his side.

"A plane home; with my husband to try and salvage whatever is left of my marriage." She told him, her fingers curling around the wooden back of the chair she was stood behind in an effort to stop pacing. "The marriage **you** ruined."

"Eva-"

"Don't 'Eva' me." She snapped. "With the greatest respect, Waverly, I'm not doing this."

"It's your job." He reminded her. "So, unless you're willing to quit; you don't have a choice."

"Like I didn't have a choice when you turned up at my door at told me to leave my husband and my home?" She asked. "I've done my job, Waverly, I did everything you told me to; I **left my husband** because you told me it was more important I get on a plane…let me have this one chance to make things right with him?" Her voice became a whisper at the end. "While I still can?"

"I'm sorry Agent Solo." Her hands slid from the chair back as he spoke and she may have been fooling herself but she was sure she saw something resembling guilt flash through his eyes. "But as was the case then; this isn't my decision – this elite taskforce has been nothing more than a whisper in the corners of boardrooms for years and now we have the chance to implement it with both you **and** your husband at the helm…this isn't something we can pass on."

* * *

Eva stepped out onto the terrace of Napoleon's room just as he and the Russian clinked their glasses together in a small toast. She couldn't help the smile that bloomed at the sight of the burning research tape in the ashtray on the table between them.

"Good evening, gentlemen." Waverly greeted them as he and Gabby followed her out into the sunshine. "Rather touching scene." He commented, eyeing the fire and the shared bottle of whiskey.

"I've always loved a bonfire on a good summer night." Eva added, moving to stand next to Solo as he leant against the railings overlooking the city.

"So, I have news." Waverly said after a moment of letting them all enjoy the sunshine. "A fresh little unpleasantness has arisen. I've spoken to your superiors, and now that we're all such good friends..." he shot the two men a look as they shared a smirk. "…they've kindly agreed to let me keep the team together for a while."

"We leave in an hour." Gabby told the men; having only been briefed a moment ago herself.

"Where we going?" Illya asked, his sunglass clad eyes instantly on Gabby as Eva hid a smirk at his eagerness to spend time with the German.

"Istanbul, Kuryakin." Waverly told him. "You'll need your curly-wurly shoes." He shot them all a grin before turning and striding away. "Oh..." He stopped. "…And you have a new code name."

"Code name?"

"Yes, rather a good one: U.N.C.L.E." He smiled again before slipping from the terrace and leaving the four alone.

"U.N.C.L.E.?" Napoleon asked as Gabby fell into one of the waiting chairs on the terrace with a sigh.

"Don't ask." Eva said, taking the glass from his hand and taking a sip. "He came up with it himself and is entirely too proud that he got an acronym from it."

The terrace was silent as the four slowly digested the news that they were now a part of an international taskforce headed by none other than the charismatic Brit.

"Two Solo's." Illya broke the silence as he watched the couple pass the glass of whiskey back and forth and shook his head at the absurdity of the notion. "I don't think the world can handle one never mind both of you."

The couple shared a smile as Napoleon's arm snaked around her waist.

"Exactly." He smirked. "It's why we're such a great pair."

"дуэт" The Russian shook his head at the grin spreading across the blonde's features.

"Exactly, Illya; дуэт."


End file.
